


In Service to the King

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, James Norrington/Elizabeth Swann/Jack Sparrow love triangle, post awe au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10409814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: What if Elizabeth found James on Tortuga *after* she had been made Pirate King?James Norrington is given the opportunity to remake his life in the most unexpected way.But as usual, Jack Sparrow complicates things for the former Commodore.The life and times of the Pirate King, and the two men who love her.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowbryneich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbryneich/gifts).



> In response to the rough touch prompt (from eons ago I know sorry!) for Norribeth from the brilliant snowbryneich:  
> Your muse pins mine onto the ground.  
> Alrighty then. ;)

It wasn’t often anymore that Tortuga managed to raise the Pirate King’s eyebrows. Elizabeth Swann had lived in this world too long—she’d seen _too_ much. But one sultry evening when she and a few of her crew were strolling down the thoroughfare, enjoying a bit of well-deserved shore leave, and a man was tossed from the Faithful Bryde into a puddle of muck and pig shit before them—Elizabeth took notice.

It was not the tossing that took her aback, or for that matter the hard landing.

It was the man in question, who bore a striking resemblance to someone she once knew. Someone who by all rights should have been _nowhere_ near this pirate island in the Caribbean.

With eyes upon her she knelt beside the foul smelling puddle, pulling the man up enough to make out his face. Her heart immediately fell—something she was careful not to convey too outwardly. Covered in muck though it was, it was a face that Elizabeth knew well, even if from a lifetime ago.

_“James Norrington, what has the world done to you?”_

The former Commodore could only groan in response, and as it was, barely hold his head out of the puddle. With the quick decisiveness Elizabeth had learned from years as a captain and a king, she made up her mind within seconds. “Billy, help me get him out of this muck.”

Billy was her quartermaster and the largest of her companions, but he didn’t seem enthused by the prospect. Yet, he knew better than to argue with his captain, and so without a word of complaint he hoisted James Norrington aloft and got him on his feet.

“What now?”

James hung his head, either too embarrassed to look at Elizabeth, or too drunk to hold his head up.

“A bath, I think. Help me get him to Fanny’s, and you’ll be free to enjoy the rest of your night.”

Billy sighed, no doubt unenthused about continuing his evening covered in the evil-smelling mud. “Mighty kind of you, Cap’n. Who the hell is he?”

“An old friend.”

She dared not say his name aloud, lest someone remember the Scourge of Piracy who had been absent these waters so long.

Billy helped her deliver James to the inn cum brothel with no more complaint.

Maria and Callie met her at the door, wrinkling their noses at the Pirate King’s companion. “Beggin’ your pardon, Your Highness, but you can’t bring him in here.”

Elizabeth shook her purse. “There’s two gold _escudos_ for both of you in here if you help me get him clean.” Madame Fanny was in possession of a marvelous copper tub, which Elizabeth thought might be a good first step for setting James to rights.

At mention of the gold the whores changed their tune, and gestured for Billy to take his charge up to the room in question. It was small, but as accommodation on Tortuga went, not bad. Elizabeth had stayed there before, and besides the tub there was a table, two chairs, and a medium sized bed with what passed for clean linens.

Once the tub was filled the real circus began. Despite his state of dishevelment, James Norrington was ever so reluctant to allow himself to be undressed. Elizabeth watched from the sidelines as he rebuffed Maria and Callie’s advances most virtuously, flailing drunkenly, muttering incoherent curses, and finally falling off his stool.

The girls looked to Elizabeth with bewilderment, and with a long sigh Elizabeth rolled up her sleeves. “Leave me be,” muttered the former Commodore as Elizabeth pulled him back up into a sitting position.

“I’m afraid that’s not on the agenda tonight, James,” said Elizabeth in a clipped tone that seemed to cause him to straighten a little. Slowly she reached up to remove the bedraggled horse hair wig from his head, which now more closely resembled a rat’s nest than an object of fashion. She tossed it away with an expression of revulsion, and James peered more closely at the woman before him.

Long moments later his bottle green eyes went wide with recognition. “ _Elizabeth?_ ”

The Pirate King was aware of the ladies tittering behind her, clearly curious who this man could be, who would address their fearsome monarch with such familiarity. Far as they knew only Jack Sparrow dared call her by her first name, and _Lizzy_ at that.

“It’s me,” she said, in a voice she hoped was soothing. She wasn’t really in practice, as it were, and imagined she might cut a fiercer picture in her braids and kohl-lined eyes, than the Governor’s daughter he once knew. “And we’re going to get you cleaned up. How does that sound?”

Immediately he averted his eyes once more, and he slurred, “’Should leave me be. M’no use to anyone anymore…”

Elizabeth’s heart fell like a stone to her stomach. In a roundabout way, she had done this to this once upright man. He had dashed his career on the rocks for her, letting Jack go with a day’s head start, and with undoubtedly a broken heart and a muddled head, sailed right into a hurricane, so her spies told her. Everyone had thought him dead, but here he was, on _Tortuga_ of all God-forsaken places.

“We’ll see about that.” She reached for his baldric next, gingerly lifting his sword belt over his head. It was the article he’d refused to let the girls touch, but with haunted green eyes James Norrington allowed her to disarm him. Next the coat, the awful reeking once-such-a-smart-blue-broadcloth coat, and the girls stepped forward to help her wrestle it from his shoulders and arms. It went into the pile with his wig, and Elizabeth reckoned the thing should be burned rather than salvaged.

The tunic came next, and then the cotton shirt that had once been white but now was more an indiscernible shade of brownish-gray. James Norrington had always taken such pride in his appearance. Perhaps not out of vanity, exactly _,_ though he was a handsome man in a classical way. But he’d liked everything to be _in order,_ and seeing him like this now did something awful to Elizabeth’s insides.

Somehow James had the grace to avert his eyes as she pulled his shirt over his head like a child. For a moment her eyes widened—never had she guessed James Norrington looked like _that_ underneath his uniform. Lean, muscled, and _scarred_. She’d seen her share of wounds that could be inflicted in a naval battle, but the reminders of such altercations James carried upon his hide were astounding for one man. Had this happened in the time that he’d lost his commission?

Elizabeth felt sick with the thought.

Maria and Callie pulled free his boots and stockings, and Elizabeth paused for what came next, surprisingly trepidatious for a woman who was not exactly a blushing maiden. Annoyed with herself, she reached for the ties of James’ breeches, only to have the former Commodore catch her hands with wide green eyes.

“No…”

“They have to come off,” she informed him, masking her embarrassment with annoyance. Was she _blushing_? “I hate to inform you, but you haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before, James.”

The former Commodore frowned, dark brows drawn together over flashing green eyes. “I think I can manage,” he informed her, his words carefully enunciated.

“Have at it then.”

Glaring at Elizabeth, James waited, and with a sigh the Pirate King crossed her arms and turned her back, waving for the girls to help him if he would allow it. He did, apparently, by the sound of their soft coaxing and coy giggles, which drew a small smirk from Elizabeth’s mouth.

Then there was a gasp and a large _splash_ , and Elizabeth turned around to find much of the fresh water had been transferred from the tub to the floor. But at least James was _in_ the tub, one of his long legs hanging haphazardly over the edge.

Elizabeth may have examined that leg with more than what was appropriate appreciation.

Now that he was in the water the girls set upon him without mercy, determined to have their _escudos_ for their efforts. His protests now were meek at best, and in time Maria and Callie had the former Commodore properly scrubbed and rinsed of his accumulated filth. Laughing to herself, Elizabeth watched out the corner of her eye with booted feet propped up on a table, and little by little the old James Norrington shined through. She told herself that she appreciated this view with an objective eye, and that she did not approve of his roguish appearance, the way his rich dark hair now brushed his shoulders, or the scruffy beard that now adorned his handsome visage.

The beard could use a trim, at any rate.

James bantered with the girls as they scrubbed him down, and they flirted in kind, second nature or themselves rather surprised by what they found under all those filthy clothes. Elizabeth took some comfort in the fact that his jacket was so soiled that it was almost impossible to discern now that it had been a Royal Navy uniform. Hopefully, there would be no trouble.

James seemed to sober up slightly with the bath, and only wobbled a little as the girls helped him step from the tub. _Now_ they were touching him more than what was exactly _necessary,_ toweling him dry, and Elizabeth couldn’t suppress a hairline frown from appearing on her brow. “I think that will do, ladies,” she said, winning a knowing pout from Maria.

“As you say, Pirate King.” They tucked him into the bed, and James pulled the sheet up to his neck, as there was nothing clean to be had to wear. Elizabeth barely suppressed a laugh for the absurdity of all this.

“Perhaps you might procure some clean clothes for him?” inquired Elizabeth, rolling a silver piece of eight between her fingers.

“I think that could be arranged,” said Callie, and caught the silver coin as Elizabeth flipped it to her. The Pirate King opened her purse to hand over the gold she’d promised besides.

Crossing her arms, Elizabeth regarded James with a critical eye. The bath had done a world of improvement, to be sure, though there was still a shadow in his gaze that no soap and hot water could scrub away.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, and sulkily James shook his head. Perhaps conversation was the last thing in which the former Commodore wished to engage, but Elizabeth would not relent. “What on earth are you doing here on Tortuga?”

James sighed, and sank lower into the bed. His eyes began to drift closed, and she thought he might pass out. Which probably was the next best thing for him at this stage of his inebriation. She’d just about given up on an answer when the words, “ _Jack Sparrow_ ,” fell from his lips.

The hairs on the back of Elizabeth’s neck rose, the way they always did when it seemed someone meant Jack harm. Which happened often. “What about Jack Sparrow?”

“He took everything from me.”

Elizabeth raised one dark brow. She could have pointed out that Jack did not make James sail into that hurricane, but in the end she decided it was an argument that could be saved for another—perhaps more _sober—_ night.

“Well, Jack Sparrow isn’t here,” she said, unable to completely conceal the sadness in her tone. Jack Sparrow had sailed off in search of the Agua de Vida—The Fountain of Youth—about a year ago, and she’d heard nothing from him since. Not that he owed her any explanations, but— _she missed him_.

James didn’t answer, and by his deepened breathing Elizabeth reckoned he’d fallen asleep. With a sigh she sat down in the chair by the little table, contemplating her next move. James would most likely sleep like the dead for hours, but she didn’t want to risk him slipping out on her. Nursemaid wasn’t usually a hat the Pirate King wore, but somehow she felt that she owed James Norrington.


	2. II.

# II.

 

_“James Norrington, what has the world done to you?”_

The words came to him in a dream, and the former Commodore jerked awake, a tickling sensation upon his face that usually indicated barn animals or an ungodly tropical insect disturbing his rest.

To his shock, rather than finding himself in muck, in a stable, in an alley, James found himself tangled in clean sheets, on a _bed,_ with a _roof_ over his head.

He swiped at the offending disturbance, finding something golden and fine as spun silk between his fingers. With wide green eyes he followed its lustrous trail across the pillow, and with a great deal of shock he beheld a most unexpected—nigh _impossible_ —sight asleep beside him.

_Elizabeth._

Absently he rubbed the lock of hair between his fingers as he regarded her in the bright rays of a Tortuga morning.

Never had a morning spent on Tortuga seemed so _merciful._

Surely it was only a matter of time before fate would deal him a swift kick in the ribs again.

Then hazy memories of the night before came to James.

A brawl.

A short flight into a mud puddle.

And an unlikely angel with dark eyes outlined in kohl lifting him from the muck.

She had ordered one of her crew to carry him here—and conscripted wenches to aid her in the daunting task of dipping him in a tub and scrubbing him clean.

James looked down upon himself. Despite what little modesty the thin sheet afforded, he could tell that he was _quite_ undressed in this bed with the Pirate King. She, however, still retained her shirt and breeches, and was curled up peacefully on the other side of the bed. A pillow lay between them like a bundling board, and though James had behaved himself, her hair had not gotten the message and crossed the line.

She was still breathtakingly beautiful.

Fierce, but beautiful all the same, her eyes darkened by smudged lines of kohl and shining trinkets braided in her hair. It was a wilder brand of vanity than the pretty silks and careful coiffures she’d once known, but Elizabeth Swann still seemed to take pride in her appearance all the same.

His heart _ached_ just to look at her, and so he looked away, his eyes casting about the room. A pair of breeches were draped over the back of a chair, probably intended for him, as they looked too big for her svelte swan’s form. Quietly as possible, James slipped out of the bed and appropriated the breeches, wobbling on one leg and then the other as he struggled to quickly put them on.

His skull felt as though it had been split by an axe, an even fiercer hangover than the usual assaulting his weary head. He rubbed his temples, then ran rough hands through his shaggy hair.

_Clean._

He could not _remember_ the last time he’d been as such, and for such a seemingly little remembrance of civilization James could have wept.

Instead, he laughed, a short harsh bark that indicated his utter disbelief of the current situation. He’d come to this god forsaken island with the intention of finding Sparrow and dealing out a well-deserved measure of justice to the pirate. Instead, he’d let himself rot away, waiting, waiting, and drowning his sorrows in drink.

He’d never thought to see Elizabeth Swann again, and on that note he could not help but cast eyes to the bed again.

She was awake, and he started to find her large dark eyes upon him, a small smile curling the corner of her finely drawn mouth. “Look who’s on his feet again,” she said, propping her head upon her hand.

Unabashedly her eyes raked over his tall form, taking in his broad shoulders and trim waist, every scar and well defined muscle that told a story of a man who had spent his life at sea across his skin.

James remained silent for a long while, too long, looking upon her with haunted emerald eyes.

What on earth could she possibly _want_ with him?

Finally he nodded, remembering some semblance of manners. “Yes. I…thank you, my lady, for…” At a loss for words, James spread his large hands wide in a gesture that seemed to encompass everything in the room, and Elizabeth’s smile widened, a sparkle in her mahogany eyes.

The sight took his breath away, and he found himself struck dumb once again.

“You’re welcome. And it’s _your highness_ , now, if you can credit it.”

James’ mouth hung open for only a few seconds. “So I had heard, though now it is easier to credit the notion.”

Her ship could be seen from the window, a svelte black beauty named _The Valkyrie_ that had earned quite a reputation in these waters the past years.

“Kind of you to indulge me,” she snarked, sitting up in bed. The collar of her loose white shirt slipped down over one shoulder, and James’ eyes were immediately drawn to her bared flesh. His fascination did not go unnoticed, and subsequently James’ ears began to _burn_.

Elizabeth laughed a little, though there was no spite in it. “Surely you’ve been on Tortuga too long to be embarrassed by a little skin, James Norrington?”

He could not meet her eyes. “Perhaps it seems silly when you have surely beheld the full measure of my sorry hide, for which I do apologize.”

This time she smiled wide enough to show straight white teeth, clearly amused. “I’ve never had a man apologize for waking up naked beside me, but I suppose there’s a first for everything.”

At this James turned _beet_ red, just as she’d obviously intended him to. But despite his embarrassment, one single question burned at the forefront of his mind. “Elizabeth… _why?_ Why would you do this?”

 _For me_ hung unsaid in the air between them.

“Why would I pull an old friend from the muck after finding him in a wretched state that I played no small part in placing him?”

He wondered how much she knew of his misadventures. The chase of Sparrow across the Med, surely. And the hurricane? Perhaps. And the rest… _well_. The way she found him spoke for itself, he supposed.

“The current _state_ of my affairs is no fault of yours, Elizabeth, I assure you.”

“Gallant of you to say, but we both know otherwise.” Elizabeth stood from the bed, crossing the floor on bare feet to stand before James, her arms crossed. Her hair was braided loosely, and several strands had come loose during sleep. She looked fierce and wild and somehow also fresh in the morning light—James balled his fists in resisting the urge to reach out and touch her.

After all this time, _still,_ he wanted her as he had wanted no other woman in his life. He would never be free of that, it seemed.

“I was an officer in the King’s Navy, and my decisions were my own,” he insisted.

Elizabeth’s gaze upon him did not flinch, and it was he who looked away first. “We both know you threw your career on the rocks when you gave Sparrow a day’s head start, _for me._ ”

Perhaps at the time she had not seen it that way. There had been _so much_ she had not seen, young and green thing that she was. Yet now she was a woman with a far better understanding of the world, of men—she knew now that James had _loved_ her.

“After that,” she went on, “There was no turning back for a man like you.”

It was true, and it wasn’t. There were decisions he should have made as a Captain that he’d been too blinded by rage and the desire to see Sparrow bedecked by a noose to issue. It had cost the lives of _seven hundred men_ on the Dauntless who had depended on him, God rest their souls at the bottom of the sea.

“You do not want to shoulder the burden I carry, Elizabeth. The blame is mine.” There was a shadow in his eyes that made the Pirate King want to reach up and cradle his face in her hands, and she too had to restrain herself with hands balled into fists. _What the devil had come over her?_ She was not usually a woman to coddle a man or show mercy, but the sight of James last night in the muck…something had twisted inside her. Bent. Broken. She didn’t know where the impulse would take her, but she was determined to see James Norrington better off than how she’d found him.

Now, Elizabeth knew what it was like to lose men who you had led into battle. _Seven hundred—_ she understood the cost a man like James Norrington paid for such a dreadful mistake.

“Somehow, James, I doubt you enjoy the life you lead here. Such squalor smacks of self-flagellation, which is well and good for a little while. But I can’t help but see it as a waste of a man like you.”

James’ heart hammered hard in his chest at hearing such words, from _her._

_A man like you._

The slightest implication that maybe she saw something worthy in him—though perhaps too late—did _inexpressible_ things to his insides. It was a happiness— _a lightness—_ that James knew he had no right to. Once, maybe, but not now. By God, not now.

“It is nothing less than I deserve, Pirate King. I thank you for your hospitality, but I think it’s time I go.”

He feared where this conversation seemed to be leading.

_Redemption._

An impossible thing a fool and a murderer like him did not merit.

When he made to step around her Elizabeth placed a staying hand upon his chest, and her palm against his bare skin caused his heart to skip a beat.

“Wait.”

“Elizabeth…”

“I could use a man like you, James. A man who knows the fighting life of the sea. This feckless existence does you no justice. If you need a King to serve, serve _me._ I promise I will see you rewarded for it.”

She could have pushed him over with a feather.

She offered him a position? A _purpose_? It was a mighty temptation, but the thought of leading men once more in battle filled him with the blackest dread.

“I am not that man anymore, _your highness_.”

Once more he tried to push past, and once more she blocked his way. “Bollocks, James Norrington. I know exactly what kind of mettle dwells here,” she punctuated by poking him _hard_ over the heart with her finger. “And I know what you need to find that man again.”

Though he utterly towered over her Elizabeth was not in the least intimidated when he took a step closer. Suddenly what felt like a sea of snakes roiled within his gut, a vicious kraken made of anger, disappointment, and a self-loathing than ran deeper than the trenches of the far Atlantic. “What does a _pirate_ know of duty, and honor?”

He thought back on her broken promise to him, no doubt, an engagement that had dissolved seemingly a lifetime ago. When she refused to move from his path James clasped her shoulders, intending to set her slighter form aside. Perhaps he gripped her more roughly than he intended. It didn’t matter, for in the blink of an eye James suddenly found himself on his arse, an indignant Pirate King pinning him to the ground.

His head throbbed in protest where it had cracked against the boards of the floor. This was tempered by the weight of Elizabeth Swann perched upon his stomach, a thing of which his body found mightily intriguing, despite his better judgement _._

James did nothing in retaliation, looking up at the woman above him with such a fierce glint in her eyes. “I know _plenty_ ,” she spat, her façade of a patient monarch slipping. “I won’t let you rot here any longer, James. _Valkyrie_ sails tomorrow with the tide, and you will be aboard whether you like it or not.”

A strange medley of emotion roiled in James’ heart. Indignant anger, and… _intrigue_. Why the _devil_ did she care so much about his fate now?

Suddenly it was Elizabeth who found herself on her back, James’ weight pressing her down into the hard floor. “And just how do you intend to accomplish that?” he questioned. Perhaps she’d taken him unawares with that sneaky little trick, but in a fair fight he clearly did not think her his equal.

How little he knew.

It was beside the point, however. Hurting James Norrington was _not_ her objective. Her _objective_ was…her thoughts were stunted by her other senses, which were emphatically telling her all about how delicious James’ weight was upon her, his long lean body fitted to hers—it had been some time since she’d trusted a man enough to let him this close. Since Jack had gone she spent her nights alone at the Cove.

As James awaited her answer a wave of dark brown hair swung down, tickling Elizabeth’s cheek. It was soft, and the Pirate King could not have surprised James more had she struck him, when she reached up to slide her fingers into his hair. Indeed he _expected_ a blow—never in a thousand years, could he have anticipated the question that passed softly from her lips. “Do you still love me, James?”

The former Commodore hovered above her, struck utterly dumb. Of course he’d never _told_ her as much, but somehow it did not surprise him that she knew, canny young thing that she was.

His heart beat to quarters in his chest, a tremor running through his arms. But before he could muster his defenses enough to lie, as any sane man would have, the truth fell from his mouth, leaving him utterly bare before her. “ _Always_ , Elizabeth.”

Where perhaps once she had scorned his love, viewed it as yet another thing in her life that could oppress her, now the Pirate King viewed something else entirely. In the blink of an eye her quick mind took the measure of this man, and found something that she had come to value more than any gold, silver, or shining stone: loyalty. In her world, _that_ was something precious to behold.

He went completely still above her; only his eyes moved as he searched her face, for _what_ he did not know. He knew better than to hope for reciprocation—and hadn’t he spurned her offer of salvation just moments before?

He felt utterly adrift.

Rather than answer his confession, Elizabeth threw him a line, craning her long neck to press her lips to his.

James froze against her for a few telling moments, clearly uncertain of this development. But she did not relent, and in the end he simply could not help himself.

He was only a man, and so he _melted._

It was unknowable, the number of times James had thought about what it might be like to kiss Elizabeth Swann. None of his musings were exactly correct, though he’d always thought it would be wonderful and sweet and somehow she was both those things and more. His arm slid beneath her narrow shoulders, holding her close as his mouth hungrily explored hers. Only when he felt one shapely leg curl around his hip did he pull back, searching her face with wild green eyes.

_What the devil was her game?_

But she just looked up at him with those shining dark orbs, her lips parted with what looked like desire.

_For him._

How the _hell_ had they come to this?

“Elizabeth?” His voice came far more ragged than he’d hoped it would, betraying his need along with his bewilderment.

She only offered him a smile, and it was not the sultry smirk of a seductress one might expect after such an encounter. There was a flash of the girl she’d once been—there was joy, and humor—but not at his expense. She reached up to trace the curve of his mouth, her fingers gentle upon his skin. It sent a thrill down his spine, igniting something in him he’d _long_ thought dead.

Finally she whispered, “ _Come with me, James._ ”

If she sought to manipulate him with this change of tack, she could not have chosen a better weapon. All this occurred to him of course; Elizabeth Swann the Pirate King was famous for her deviousness, and he’d witnessed the blossom of that talent first hand. But he simply could not see what she had to _gain_ by luring him away.

Feeling more than a little helpless, a fine tremor ran through his arms.

In that moment he knew he would follow her into the mouth of Hell itself if she asked.

And someday, he knew she just might.

He could not find his voice, and so he simply nodded _yes._

 


	3. III.

# III.

 

For the first time in ages, the sun of a Tortuga morning did not seem _mockingly_ bright as James exited Fanny’s Inn. He shielded his eyes against the light with a hand, and though his head still hurt a smile pulled his lips that he’d not managed to suppress since enlisting with the Pirate King. The man he’d once been would have scowled at the thought that becoming a _pirate_ entailed a brighter future than his current situation in life—though that wasn’t the reason for the lightness in his heart.

_Her._

That was the reason, plain and simple, and a frisson of pleasure coursed down his spine at the memory of just hours ago, after he accepted her offer. _Would you feel put upon if I requested you kiss me again?_ Delivered with utmost cheek, naturally, and yet somehow also sincere.

It was easy to fathom how a man like him might need Elizabeth Swann—what was not so obvious was why she maybe needed him too. It was a question that pulled him onward, and so he made his way towards the docks and _The Valkyrie._

Of course, he had kissed her again.

And again.

All on the hard wooden floor of their room, and Elizabeth had not seemed to mind one bit, purring like a cat and wrapping her long limbs around him,

Things went no further than that, however, and he had not protested, dazzled as he was that any of it had occurred in the first place. He wondered if it had been a test, and when he did not complain when she said she needed to get to _the Valkyrie_ to oversee provisioning she had smiled to herself, a smoldering heat in her dark eyes of which he’d never beheld before. _Join us later today?_

He intended to, and with the unfamiliar weight of silver his pocket James made his way down the thoroughfare. Elizabeth had given him the coin, stacking the pieces of eight upon the table before she left with no direct orders of how to use them. He wondered if it was another test, to see if he would choose to expend them upon more drink, or more practically on the clothing he so sorely required.

His blue coat had gone the way of the rubbish pile out back, and his wig besides. Trappings of an old life that had little use to him now—he’d never really liked the wig anyway. The coat hurt more, _much more,_ but…it was time to move on.

He’d hoped for death more times than he could count on this awful island—never in a thousand years would he have guessed his salvation would come in the form of Elizabeth Swann.

As though in answer to his thoughts the next shop presented its wares in the window: a green coat upon a rough wood mannequin caught his eye.

 

**XXX**

 

“Is that the bloke we pulled from the mud puddle?” asked Billy incredulously, frowning down at the sight of a tall man in a green coat and plain brown tricorne making his way up the gang plank.

“It certainly is, Mister Bones.” Elizabeth’s heart swelled at the sight of James, clean and dressed in fresh clothes, his carriage erect once more, his stride long and steady the way she remembered it had been before…before _everything_ happened.

“And what’s he doing on our ship?”

Elizabeth smirked at her quartermaster’s hostile tone. He could be a tad overprotective at times, but mostly he meant well. “Reporting for duty, I expect. We are short a sailing master, if you recall.”

“Sailing master? _Him_?”

“He is more than qualified, I assure you.”

With hat in hand James approached the quarterdeck, his eyes trailing over the lines of _The Valkyrie_ with what Elizabeth chose to read as approval. She kept a tight ship, and _The Valkyrie_ was her pride and joy. “Your Highness,” he addressed her, making a leg that raised more than a few eyebrows aboard the pirate vessel, but filled Elizabeth with an unexpected delight. “How may I be of service today?”

“You may begin by helping me plot our next course,” answered the King, descending from the quarterdeck and gesturing towards her cabin. James seemed surprised by this development, but not displeased. No doubt he had assumed he would be used for more manual labors as the low man on the totem pole. Elizabeth knew he would get his chance for that too; she could not play favorites. But for now, a precise heading was what she required.

The hair raised on the back of James’ neck as Elizabeth shut the door of her cabin behind him, his every sense on point. It was not fear of the Pirate King, though that would have been perfectly healthy. He stood in complete awareness of the fact that once more they shared a room together—alone—and the fresh memory of her lips on his rose in his mind’s eye.

As though she knew— _how did she always know?_ —a small smirk pulled the corner of the lips in question. “At ease, James. Your virtue is safe here,” she teased, those dark eyes flashing with amusement.

And though he came to this ship expecting no further favors, he still couldn’t help but be a _little_ disappointed.

Elizabeth forged on, “You shall have to decide what we are to call you. You are welcome to your real name, of course, but I was not sure what you would prefer.”

James canted his head in consideration of this. After all he had lost…must he abandon _his name_ as well? “I suppose that depends on how you think your crew will receive me, Your Highness. I do not wish to cause you unnecessary trouble.” Or, receive a gully buried in his back. He had the most inexplicable hunger to _live_ all of a sudden.

A small smile pulled at the corner of Elizabeth’s mouth. “You may call me Elizabeth here.”

The familiarity caused a telling warmth to bloom in James’ belly, though he knew it was silly on a pirate ship where such egalitarianism was surely common enough.

“As you like. Elizabeth.”

She smiled, understanding all too well. The world they had both been raised in—and had left _far_ behind—still colored her perception too now and then. Perhaps between them, the familiarity could still be considered something special.

The Pirate King looked him up and down appraisingly once more, pleased that he had used her silver to buy new togs rather than a bottle. Perhaps it seemed silly to test a man like James Norrington, but she had seen plenty of men demolished by that vile drink, and she needed to know how far James Norrington had really fallen. She took in his gently used green coat that complemented his eyes to no end, boots that had been cleaned of muck, and the faithful sword at his side, the ornate brass guard covered with scratches and nicks from past battles. It appeared he had also used some of that silver for a trimming of his beard, though she was glad it was not _completely_ gone.

With a purpose at hand, perhaps the former Commodore was not so far gone down that dark road after all.

“If you are willing to prove your loyalty to me and our cause, I see no reason you cannot remain James Norrington among us. We are all outcasts here; past lives are less important than one’s intent for the present.”

Loyalty to _her_ would not be a problem, at least. Of this she was certain. After all this time, after everything she had done to him, he loved her. _Always, Elizabeth._ It took a colder heart than hers to remain unmoved by such a steadfast devotion. Unbidden, a flurry of butterflies erupted in her belly, which she immediately sought to tamp down.

“Even if a man’s past labeled him _the Scourge of Piracy_?” He thought of all the pirates he had hung in his long career, and couldn’t imagine her crew would take it kindly.

“Even if.” Elizabeth looked down at the table, afraid he would see the softness in her eyes. “I will vouch for you, James, if you promise not to make a liar of me?”

James bowed his head. “I would not repay your kindness in such a way.”

But he could not help but think on what she had said. _Our cause._ Did that mean pillaging and plundering their black little hearts out? It gave him pause, though still not enough to cause him to walk away.

As though she read these thoughts too, Elizabeth smiled knowingly. “I won’t ask you to do anything you wouldn’t have done on a Royal Navy ship, James. We’re not monsters here. But we _are_ in a little war with the French _and_ the Spanish, touchy bastards. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t relish one or two Frenchy prizes?”

James smiled at the thought, a sparkle in his eyes that left Elizabeth unexpectedly short of breath. How had she never noticed how _handsome_ James could be? Perhaps because she’d rarely had occasion to see him smile, before.

“No, I would not object to that.” Especially if he was _not_ the one giving the orders. For now, the position of sailing master very much appealed to him. “Tell me, are we making war on them specifically?”

“Specifically? I am making war on the slave trade, and at the moment the French have taken the greatest exception. The Spanish…well, I may have pinched a treasure galleon we found blown off course from the rest of her escort, and Phillip was not pleased.”

James saw _stars_ at the thought of how much wealth could have been contained in such a vessel. “A _galleon_?”

Elizabeth smiled brightly. “Indeed.” There was a long pause as Elizabeth considered how far to admit James into her confidences. Though other’s opinions rarely swayed her, she found that she badly wanted him to understand what she was about. “Though you may think little of a pirate’s capacity for _duty_ or _honor,_ James…I have _plans_ for Shipwreck Cove. I directed a great deal of my share of the Spanish wealth into repairs to the city, and a school for _all_ the boys and girls. Someday, I intend to make it a place where men and women of every walk and every color can be free, and be damned to any other nation who thinks to stand in my way.” By the end of her tirade her hand clenched into a fist upon the navigation table, punctuating the end of her sentence with a vehement pounding of the desk.

James said nothing, looking upon her with a sharp green gaze.

A _Utopia_.

That was what she sought to make of a pirate island, and the prospect seemed unlikely at best. Yet the fire in her eyes—she _believed_ it could be done, and her eagerness to enlist a man with as much battle experience as he became more clear. Carefully he considered his next words.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon, Elizabeth, and I hope you will forgive me.” He did not voice that he doubted most of the citizens of the Cove were of the same mind as she. It was not up to him to prove her wrong.

He did not _want_ to prove her wrong, he found.

“Thank you, James.” Her attention turned down to the chart upon the desk, and James picked up a pair of brass calipers. French made, and of excellent quality. It had been a while since he’d plotted a course, but some things a man like him did not forget. His hand shook slightly, and a little drink may have steadied it, but James refused to go down that road again, when such an unexpected light shone through the trees ahead.

 “So, my liege. Where do you wish to go?”


	4. IV.

# IV.

 

James always seemed to know where Elizabeth was upon the ship, hyper aware of her presence like a hound with his nose to the wind. Not that _the Valkyrie_ was a terribly large ship to lose oneself on—she was no _Dauntless_. But what she lacked in size she made up for in speed—and _teeth._ With the sails full and her bow cutting through the azure waters like a hot knife through butter, it was hard not to feel a certain affection for her.

Though he felt her eyes upon him from time to time, Elizabeth did not try to kiss him again, nor did he dare approach her. She teased him often with a glitter in her eye that made his heart ache—but nothing that could be considered of a truly romantic nature. He tried not to feel disappointment, and failed all the same. The question burned inside him: _why_ had she kissed him that day on Tortuga?

He feared he knew the answer, and he had swallowed the bait hook line and sinker.

Still, he could not regret it.

Just being near her once more was a sweetness he’d never thought to enjoy again, even if it was an exquisite torture. It was a familiar enough pain—though different now in that she knew for certain how he felt about her. Funny, how he’d thought her knowing his true heart could bring about catastrophic disaster, for how hard he’d fought to hide it before daring to propose to her. But now she knew—and he felt all the lighter for it, as though a weight had been lifted from his chest which he’d borne for years and years.

James stood at the gunwale, taking a moment to enjoy the wind on his face as the Valkyrie sped towards her destination on a fair wind. They sought the hunting grounds that would allow the interception of slaver ships en route to Martinique. Apparently Elizabeth and her crew had done it several times before, and took the freed captives back to Shipwreck Cove, where they could choose to stay or go home to Africa.

“You look well, James.” He turned to find Elizabeth at his side, her golden queue whipping in the trade wind.

_Beautiful._

Deep inside, he felt that familiar ache like an old friend come to call.

“I feel well, Your Highness. Thank you.” And it was true, he felt better than he had in ages. Being at sea, and near _her_ , had all seen to that. It was a mercy he still did not think he particularly deserved.

Though she had given him permission to use her given name, he found he enjoyed using her honorific titles. It was fitting, really. For all his years in the English navy, in the end it had been _her_ flag he proved most loyal to. And so it was, and so it would always be.

“Who knew that the life of a pirate could agree with you so much?” she ribbed him cheekily, a smirk pulling at those finely drawn lips.

He paid her a sideways glance, smiling in spite of himself. “I don’t believe we’ve actually done any real pirating yet.”

They had sailed around quite a bit, searching for prey. James performed his duties as sailing master admirably well, as well as pitched in with the more manual tasks of running the ship. Despite Elizabeth’s voucher the crew kept a wary distance from him, looking upon him with an understandable suspicion, though thankfully no one had taken it further than that. Billy in particular fixed the former Commodore with evil glares. All gave him a wide berth, except for a young mister Thomas Crane, who often engaged James with questions about navigation and his time at sea without the prejudice the others seemed to feel.

“Ah, just you wait, James,” said Elizabeth, looking out upon the seas as though she could sense the prizes waiting to be had, just beyond the horizon.

She never called him Mister Norrington, James noticed. It was as though she could not bring herself to remind him verbally of how far he’d fallen from his former command. He appreciated the thought, and yet found he wouldn’t have minded either way. From her, at least.

James nearly jumped out of his skin when her fingers brushed his upon the gunwale, her hand lightly pressing his before she went about her business running _the Valkyrie,_ barking an order to trim up the mizzen sail. Long after she left his company, the former Commodore’s heart thundered in his chest like a war drum, adrenaline pumping as though he’d just engaged in a skirmish.

Perhaps he had, and not known it.

 

**XXX**

 

Elizabeth proved right, and when they found some action it came in the form not of a slaver ship, but a fat slow merchant vessel just _asking_ for the taking like a moon-eyed heifer awaiting the attentions of a bull. _Valkyrie_ was more than happy to oblige her, and the Pirate King’s reputation was such that at simply the sight of her flag the merchant hove to and sent up the white.

It nearly went off without a single hitch, the goods and stores of the merchant vessel loaded onto _the Valkyrie_ , until an opportunistic crew member of the merchant ship felt a little too brave, and tried to knife the Pirate King in the back as she passed.

James stepped in the way, and received a nasty slash across his ribs as a reward.

Billy saw to it that the would be assassin would not live to see another sunrise. The rest of the crew and passengers of the merchant vessel mercifully were allowed to go unscathed.

 

**XXX**

 

“I can tell that it’s bothering you,” stated Elizabeth a few nights later, referring, James hoped, to the wound he’d received in her defense.

“I will manage, Pirate King.”

The truth was that the deep cut itched like the devil, was an angry red beneath his bandages, and he ran a slight fever. But he’d had much worse before, and he knew he would heal. He always did, in spite of himself.

Elizabeth, however, was not satisfied with that answer. “Come on,” she urged, tugging at his coat sleeve. “I know just what you need.”

The thought caused James’ heart to skip a beat, as it often did in her company.

He put up no further resistance, following her to her cabin. With a pointing finger she directed him to sit at the desk, and divested herself of her coat as she crossed the cabin to a cabinet where she kept all manners of things. He watched as she withdrew what looked like herbs and oil from several jars, and ground them together with a mortar and pestle.

In shirtsleeves, a crimson red sash, breeches and bare feet, kohl-lined eyes and a heavy gold earring glinting in her left ear, she cut the very picture of a gypsy healer mixing up concoctions.

“What _is_ that?” he dared ask, looking dubiously upon the brownish green paste she presented.

“Something I picked up in Singapore,” she informed him. “It will fight your infection. Shirt off, if you please.”

James blanched at the direction. Though she’d certainly seen it _all_ before, somehow he found it hard to undress before her so casually. Though most of the men thought nothing of going about without a shirt on the ship…this was different, and she knew it, and he wished she would have _some_ mercy on him. He looked up at her with wide green eyes, at a loss for words that would not make him feel an even bigger fool.

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth reached for his coat herself, pushing it from his shoulders. “Considering you earned this wound in _my_ defense, James Norrington, I would be remiss if I let you suffer. This poultice will help, I promise.”

With a sigh James knew he had lost the battle, and feeling her hands upon him— _undressing him—_ it was too much. “Very well, _very well_ ,” he surrendered, leaning back in the chair in retreat. “Allow me, will you?”

Smiling triumphantly, Elizabeth stood back with hands on her slender hips. She would not look away—but then, what was the point? With halting movements, for the gash in his side really _did_ hurt like the devil, James slowly managed to divest himself of his coat and shirt. When he’d finished Elizabeth did not immediately pounce upon him, but seemed to look him over in a way that caused a slow warmth to pulse through his insides.

“These have to come off too,” she said in a softer voice, reaching for the swathe of bandages that wrapped his ribs. Resigned, he let her untie them, and the last layers revealed the wound that was leaking a yellow puss. She frowned at the sight of it, a chill running down her spine with the thought that this could have been so much worse. Surely that scamp had not anointed his blade with something foul?

“You should have told me it looked like this,” she scolded.

“I did not know there was anything more to be done.”

She spread the poultice upon the gash, and almost immediately James felt some relief, a cool numb spreading out from the wound. The concoction contained a pinch of opium, of which Elizabeth did not intend to reveal to James. He sighed for the reprieve, and truth be told, her hands upon him, and the warmth of her so near. In Port Royal he remembered her perfume had always smelled so sweet, like the flowers that constantly bloomed upon Jamaica. Now there was something spicier to her scent, like warm vanilla and the heathen incense he remembered from the temples of India he’d visited when he was only a midshipman. It was heady—intoxicating—and suited her completely.

She applied fresh linen bandages, tying him up neatly as an Egyptian mummy. “No wonder your wounds healed this way, if that is the treatment they received,” she mused, reaching out to touch an old cutlass scar upon his shoulder. Lightly her fingertips traced the puckered flesh, and for a moment he let his eyes slip closed.

“One has little choice as to the remedy one receives upon a Navy ship,” he mused, thinking that a roughly trained ship’s surgeon was just as likely to do you harm as good, if you needed something more than a limb sawed off.

“What happened here?” she asked, still tracing his scar in a maddening fashion back and forth. Every hair on James’ body stood at attention, his every nerve attuned to the woman before him. Why couldn’t she just take a step back now? Was she _trying_ to drive him mad?

“A French cutlass.”

Slowly her fingers moved down. His body was a map of misadventures and altercations upon the sea, years of experience that _far_ outweighed her own. Fascinated, Elizabeth fixed upon a different old abrasion upon his collar bone. “And here?”

It took a moment for him to find his voice. “Spanish halberd,” he ground out, unable to open his eyes.

“And these?” Next her fingertips circled an old bullet scar upon his chest, that somewhat reminded her of the ones Jack bore.

“Pirates,” he answered, his voice barely a whisper now.

For a fraction of a moment the motion of her fingers paused, betraying— _something._ Not guilt. Surely, not _her_. He dared open his eyes then, and was surprised to see her brows drawn together, a look about her like she might apologize. But in the end she thought better of it, her pillow-like lips pursed in thought. The scar was old—a thing earned _long_ before her time, at least.

When she began to move on to a different mark James finally caught her hand in his, unable to bear anymore. “ _Elizabeth_ …” he pleaded. “When you touch me like this, I can’t…”

Think.

Breathe.

Bear to go on one _moment_ more without having her in his arms.

Slowly, her other hand lifted to cup the side of his face, her touch gentle as a spring rain. Her dark eyes were luminous in the candlelight, shining bright and yet he found he could not read her. Her thumb traced his lower lip, and the curve of his bearded chin. Finally she seemed to decide upon something, and she leaned down.

“Then _don’t_ ,” she whispered, and pressed her lips to his.

Once again, he was _lost_ to her, and he forgot the wound on his side _completely_ as she melted into his arms, straddling his lap in the chair. Their kisses were languid and sweet, in no particular hurry, though Elizabeth left no question of their intended destination when she unknotted the sash at her waist and placed James’ hands upon her bare skin under her shirt. She was soft and svelte and she arched like a cat with a sigh as his large hands greedily dragged up the ladder of her ribcage and her spine. He might have apologized for how rough they had grown, had he not suspected she liked them that way.

“ _God you are beautiful,_ ” he ground out against the taut skin of her throat, his lips travelling the long length of her swan’s neck.

“You still think so?” Surprisingly it sounded like a genuine inquiry, not her usual teasing. Undoubtedly she thought of the girl he’d once courted, and how different she appeared now. She was like a butterfly amidst its metamorphosis; James knew now that this was her truest form.

“Undoubtedly, Your Highness.”

A small smile curled her lips then, and between kisses she told him, “You don’t have to call me that, James.”

“You don’t care for it?” he teased back knowingly, and was rewarded with a wider smile.

“I didn’t say _that._ ” She kissed him again and he held her close, his hands splayed upon her lower back. Here, like this, she felt so _small._ And yet on deck she carried the presence of a lioness, a match for anyone of any size.

James’ mouth found the line of her throat once more, tracing its long line with his lips the way he’d longed to countless times. He nudged the loose collar of her shirt aside, exposing one shoulder for his delectation. Yet before he could press his lips there, as he’d meant to, something caught his eye. A tattoo, which was no great surprise, considering. But the subject matter gave him pause, and he could not stop himself from staring with a furrowed brow.

It was a sparrow.

Sparrows were common enough among sailors, signifying the bearer traveled 5,000 nautical miles, which he supposed she certainly had if she’d made her way from England to the Caribbean, to Singapore and back again, and who knows where else upon the high seas.

But this bird in particular was an almost _perfect_ facsimile of Jack’s Sparrow’s namesake tattoo; James felt certain he would know it anywhere, after seeing it that fateful day on the docks of Port Royal.

He felt her eyes upon him, her gaze heavy as she waited to see if he would dare demand explanation, or if he could ignore it to get on with decidedly more pleasant distractions.

He wanted to ignore it, God knows.

But in the end, he found he could not, and he sat back in the chair once more, the farthest he could retreat with this delectable woman _in his lap._

“You are lovers. You, and Sparrow.”

Usually Elizabeth would have responded with a haughty _that’s none of your business,_ but somehow she couldn’t this night, here with this man whose life she had played such a part in ruining, in tandem with the pirate of whom he inquired.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, which did not even begin to scratch the surface of her relationship with the pirate Jack Sparrow. When in his company the love she felt for that man bordered on _madness_ , the pirate was so intoxicating. And yet a less obtainable mate never lived; she could not keep him. That was a truth she had come to accept, for the sake of her own sanity.

James’ eyes flicked to the tattoo, conveying that _sometimes_ hardly merited marking oneself permanently with such a token of remembrance.

Perhaps she’d been _a little_ drunk—on rum and love—the night she let the needleman make this mark in her flesh. So had Jack, to be fair, and he had emerged from the tattooist’s with the outline of a swan upon his left pectoral.

“Does that spoil me for you, James? Of everything that I’ve done, is that to be the unforgiveable sin?”

Green eyes flashed from beneath dark brows. God knew he had no right to make demands of her; a sane man would have grabbed her up once more and said not one more damned thing about it. Her weight upon his thighs was a delicious distraction; her warm center, so close to his burgeoning cock stand that was so hard it was almost painful.

However, the devil inside whispered in his ear, reminding him _700 men dead,_ as though he could ever really forget.

His voice came chilled as he commented with the casual disinterest of speculation upon the weather, “I am simply surprised you would let a man brand you in such a way.”

Something dark flashed in Elizabeth’s eyes; the warning of lightning preceding a hurricane in the distance. Slowly she leaned forward, tilting James’ face up to hers with a sharp nail beneath his chin. “I belong to no man, James, and I never will. You would do well to remember it.”

Elizabeth made as though to quit his lap, but James caught her with strong hands upon her thighs, winning him a look of warning. “ _Why_?” he demanded before she could strike him, or something equally unpleasant. “Why did you kiss me then?” He had to know, and he sensed it was now or never.

Hotly she answered, “Because I am fond of you, and I wanted you, and I _trust_ you. It’s a rare combination to find in a man in my world.”

The hard lump in James’ throat softened a little. “Do you trust Jack Sparrow?”

For a moment her expression betrayed sadness, before Elizabeth schooled her visage back to safer neutrality. “Rarely,” she deadpanned, though somehow the lack of emotion in the word betrayed it all.

In that moment it was enough for James, and he dared to reach for her once more, pulling her into another kiss with hands in her hair that curled her toes. She caught his lip between her sharp teeth, and for a second he felt certain she would bite down, before she acquiesced to melt into his arms once more.


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think due to this chapter its probably best that I move this story to the Explicit category. As usual, I tried and failed to be good. ;) You've been warned.

# V.

 

Life is strange, thought James Norrington, as he lay with an exhausted Pirate King in his arms, their skin dewy with perspiration from the exertions of their lovemaking. Once he had been what some might consider a man on top of the world. A decorated officer, well on his way to an Admiral’s pennant. Wealthy, admired, respected—a hero, even, if not a man who was known to always do his duty.

He’d been so certain of his view of the world, and the correct order of things.

Yet now, only after losing _everything_ —his career and his every material possession—after achieving a state of _perfect_ ruin—did he find himself in a position where he considered himself even remotely close to being truly _happy_.

As far as moments in life went, this had to be one of his finest.

“I can hear the tackle and block of your mind working,” said Elizabeth drowsily against his chest, betraying that she was not completely asleep. Half-lidded eyes turned up to him, a small satiated smile curling her lips. “Can you not relax even now?”

With a small chuckle James settled farther down into her berth, pulling her closer still. “Can you claim your own mind is at rest, my liege?”

Her smile widened a little. “I was only thinking that a woman in your arms feels well and truly loved, James Norrington. It is a splendid gift to receive.”

James pressed lips to her forehead, moved to the tips of his toes by such unexpectedly sweet words. “Funny, that I was just thinking about how _miserable_ you would have been as my wife, had we married.”

Elizabeth paused at that, though only for a moment. “Perhaps a great deal less so, when you were not away at sea,” she offered cheekily, and he wondered what part of their evening had convinced her so. When he’d gone to his knees before her and kissed her pretty quim until she cried his name with delight? Or perhaps their lovemaking afterwards, with his body fitted so perfectly inside hers? His long fingers laced with hers upon the pillow, and kisses that could have turned the hardest rock to molten lava... He vaguely remembered chanting her name and other things into the bend of her neck—had he told her again that he loved her? Perhaps he had—he did not exactly remember the words that were spoken, only the _feeling_ , a red hot inferno that blazed within his heart for her.

If he _had_ said it—it did not seem she minded.

She had reached completion once more before he spent himself upon her belly, and the memory of her fine features contorted in pleasure below him, her golden hair spread out on the pillow…it left him feeling _quite_ aroused all over again. Elizabeth lost no time in noticing this, her dark eyes shining with wicked delight. “James Norrington!” she exclaimed, stroking his now quite erect cock with the tip of her finger from base to tip. “Again so soon?”

Despite every intimate thing they had done not even an hour ago, James still felt himself blushing, and perhaps even more so when Elizabeth straddled him, resembling more goddess than pirate with her golden hair streaming down, the lantern light anointing her with a halo. “What can I say, my King?” he teased back, his hands finding the curves of her hips to position her better upon him. “Your beauty is exceptionally inspiring.”

She paid him a long look in which he felt particularly well probed. “Just my beauty, James?” she asked, sliding from his grasp to move farther down his body. With wide eyes he watched her, momentarily forgetting how to speak.

Eventually he remembered himself, and answered, “You know it is far more than that.”

This seemed to please her very much, for with a bewitching smile she lowered her lips to his cock, taking him into her mouth. “ _God, Elizabeth_ ,” James moaned, not having expected this turn of events at all. His hands fisted in the sheets, then her hair, all the while sounds more animal than man escaping his mouth. He felt her lips move around him, knew that she was trying not to smile with such a mouthful. Instead she moaned, the vibrations evoking the sweetest sensations.

Just as he was nearing his finish she withdrew, wiping a bit of moisture from the corner of her mouth. Before he could protest or even catch his breath she had moved up his body once more, the silken heat of her slit sliding upon his manhood. It was her turn to cry out as she slowly impaled herself upon him, sheathing him to the hilt in the maddening warmth of her body.

James sat up to engulf her in his arms, his mouth hungrily seeking hers, holding her tightly against him. He knew it was impossible, but he _never_ wanted to let her go. He slipped a hand between them, finding that small nub of flesh that was the key to her own paradise, and clinging together they rode that magnificent wave to the finish. The feeling of her tight quim convulsing with release around him was simply _too much;_ James came with her, spilling himself deep inside with a groan and teeth in the perfect curve of her shoulder as a blinding pleasure speared through him.

Panting, sweaty, utterly satisfied, they fell back down into the berth, limbs tangled as wind whipped rigging. As some of the glow faded James had the sense to be alarmed by his own lack of control in the face of passion.

And she’d said she trusted him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, watching her wipe away his seed from between her thighs with a corner of the sheet. “I should have—”

“Hush,” she soothed him in a voice still tinged with the fuzzy warmth of their passion, kissing his cheek. “I hedge my own bets, James. It’s fine. It was _glorious,_ in fact.”

Curious, James canted his head with thought as she settled into his arms, seeming without a care in the world. “How?”

“Infection fighting poultices are not the only herbal knowledge I picked up in Singapore.”

“Ah.” It seemed a thing that should have belonged in fairy tales, but she certainly seemed to have faith in her methods. Inexplicably James felt a hint of sadness. Once, children with Elizabeth Swann had been his fondest wish. Such a thought was idiocy now, of course. This was not a life in which children could thrive, and Elizabeth clearly had other ambitions. He shook off this vague sense of disappointment, knowing he was a fool.

Finally, sleep pulled at the edges of his world, and with Elizabeth in his arms James succumbed to exhaustion with the final warm thought that she had found their lovemaking _glorious._

 

**XXX**

 

_In darkness thick as pitch the gale howled all around, wind and waves tossing their ship as though it were a toy in a child’s bath. Never in all his years a sailor had James encountered fury like this upon the sea, and somehow he knew this would be it. The storm to end all storms; despite all his knowledge, orders, preparations—this would be the one that would sink him. Loose lines whipped all around, sails beating themselves to shreds under the power of the unforgiving wind. Waves crashed over the deck, washing sailors overboard, their screams lost in the banshee wind. James reached for them, knowing all the while that they were doomed. They were all doomed, and it was all his fault. There was a terrible cracking noise underfoot, the deck splintering beneath him._

_She was breaking up._

_The cold sea rushed up through the hull, violent, hungry, devouring the Dauntless whole, and all her crew with her. Icy water lapped at his ankles, then his knees, then his waist. Soon he was pulled under, suffocating in the unforgiving briny deep, crushed as he was pulled further down and down and down…_

James woke with a violent gasp, shooting upright in the berth. He thrashed about, disoriented in the darkness. But warm hands soothed him, rubbing his arm and pulling him back down into the warmth of the sheets. “ _Shhh_ ,” said a soft voice. “It’s alright, you’re safe, James. _Shhh_.”

“ _The Dauntless…_ ” was all his wretched throat could grind out, but he gave in to the tugging hands, resting his cheek upon a warm breast. The sound of Elizabeth’s heart steadily beating beneath his ear helped ground him to reality, stealing him away from the horror that were his memories of the sinking first rate he’d once commanded.

“You’re not on the _Dauntless,”_ she assured him, stroking long fingers through his thick dark hair. “You’re with me on the _Valkyrie,_ and she is bearing us true on steadfast wings upon a following sea, _home._ We’re going home.”

Home did not mean Jamaica, or even England, James remembered through the haze. Home for this woman was Shipwreck Cove, the kingdom where she ruled. She meant to make it his home too, as unlikely as the prospect seemed. Could a former Royal Navy commander truly call a pirate island home? It seemed unthinkable. Yet, wrapped up in her arms, James couldn’t help but think _this_ could easily become his home, and gladly. He knew it was folly to dare to hope, and yet…

James shuddered beneath her hands, what might have been a silent sob, clutching at the blankets with a desperation that could have left bruises. In the place between waking and dreams, even wrapped up in this woman’s arms, he still felt adrift. “ _Why have you been so good to me?_ ” he whispered raggedly in the dark, the soothing steady _thump-thump_ of her heart beating in his ear.

He felt her kiss his hair, holding him close in her svelte embrace. “Because you’re mine now,” she answered simply, and for the moment that was enough. More than enough.

Perhaps Elizabeth Swann rebelled at the notion of any man possessing _her_ , but James did not feel the same compunction. If she wanted him then he would be hers, lock stock and barrel. With ready hands and an open heart, he would gladly relinquish the key.

Lulled by her soothing whispers and the warmth of her skin pressed to his, James drifted back into a much more restful doze, sleeping like a baby in the arms of the Pirate King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear I was remiss in failing to mention last chapter the idea here of Elizabeth being something of a potions master via knowledge picked up in Singapore comes from the brilliant Snowbryneich. Thank you dear, you are a font of endless inspiration. ;)


	6. VI.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is introduced to life at the Cove, and a certain trickster pirate is in port.

# VI.

 

Their affair went on for the duration of the journey to Shipwreck Cove. Despite her seeming eagerness James did not dare initiate, but Elizabeth seemed more than happy to take the lead, sometimes going so far as to snatch him from the galley at mealtimes right in front of the crew.

It was a poorly kept secret, but then on a pirate ship, who was there to care?

Billy seemed to, though James imagined it was a more _general_ disapproval than jealousy. Still, the former Commodore slept with one eye open, on the rare occasion he spent the night in his hammock rather than the Captain’s quarters.

The rest of the men seemed to have slowly come to accept him, their King’s voucher for the former Commodore enough to instill trust in the rest of the lot. James’ navigation proving true time and again no doubt helped matters as well.

They arrived in Shipwreck Cove on a brilliant Caribbean day, the aqua colored waters disguising the treachery of the Devil’s Throat, the famously precarious entrance to the bay of Shipwreck City. Sharp rocks and shoals made for an interesting obstacle course into the pirate stronghold, but their pilot saw them through with nary a trouble.

Elizabeth joined James at the gunwale, looking on upon the various ships anchored in the Cove and tied off at the docks. It was a varied array of vessels, to be sure. There were frigates and galleons, brigantines and snows. A Chinese junk, and even a long xebec moored there. Brightly colored cutters sped between them all, carrying messages and hawking wares. James looked upon it all with wonder, until the sight of one familiar ship darkened his countenance, his knuckles turning white in their death grip upon the rail.

The _Black Pearl_ swayed on the waves, sinister and elegant like a ghost ship from some vulgar gothic novel.

Understanding his sudden shift of mood all too well, Elizabeth placed a staying hand upon James’ arm. “I think you of all people can appreciate that bygones is the best policy here, James. The past is in the past.”

Though he knew it was true, in theory, he still could not stop himself from gritting his teeth, glaring at the ship that had eluded him so masterfully from the Caribbean all the way to the Mediterranean. “ _700 hundred men.”_ It escaped him as a ragged whisper, and Elizabeth’s mouth set in a dour line.

“It was an awful thing. But Jack Sparrow did not kill those men, and neither did you. The blame lies with the hurricane.”

James only felt his temper rise higher at that statement, though he had the sense not to argue at this point in time, in this location in full view upon the deck.

Sensing that was not quite enough to talk him down, Elizabeth went on, “It’s done now. You must move forward.”

The most childish impulse rose in him, to shake her off and say something like _you don’t know what it’s like to carry such a burden._

But she did.

She had lost men in the battle against the EITC’s tyranny. Even good men, to hear her tell it, including Will Turner.

James did his best to swallow his rage, closing his eyes against the sight that inspired his wrath. Her fingers digging into his arm grounded him, and the Commodore turned pirate sailing master took a deep breath. “Very well, your majesty.” The words were correct, though the feeling behind them seemed to leave something to be desired for the Pirate King.

“Understand that I will defend him, James, as I would defend _you._ Please don’t make me regret bringing you here.”

This had a more sobering effect upon him, and she felt the tension leak from his arm like water through a sieve. He nodded, and satisfied, Elizabeth went to the quarter deck, barking orders to prepare for their approach to the docks.

 

**XXX**

 

Shipwreck City was a marvel. There simply was no other way to describe it. James simply could not understand how it all did not _fall down_.

Apparently collapses had been a problem, until Elizabeth raised a great deal of monies, including some of her own prize funds, to invest in shoring up the city for the good of all. She knew better than to levy taxes against a population of pirates; her uncanny knack for governing was something undoubtedly learned at her father’s knee. But for a particular cause, many of the residents proved surprisingly willing to contribute to the improvement of their home.

She was a good King, and seemingly her people loved her for it. As they passed on the road they hardly were able to walk two steps before being stopped by a hail, a salute, an embrace from a friend. Everyone looked at her tall companion curiously, but no one raised an eyebrow, at least to the King’s face. If the Scourge of Piracy was recognized, no one said boo about it.

Despite these interruptions, Elizabeth showed James around the city, from the markets that boasted everything from staples to oddities, bright silks and incenses, and the heady scents of cuisines from across the globe. They rested their tired feet at an eatery with rickety tables that overlooked the sea, and Elizabeth tried to teach James how to eat a bowl of seasoned meat and rice with small wooden sticks.

It did not go terribly well at first, and it seemed more food ended up in his lap that his mouth. Chuckling, Elizabeth took mercy on him, feeding him a bite of pork from her own bowl. Somehow, the electricity felt in that moment when his eyes met hers made all the frustration worth it.

After lunch they wandered a little more. She showed him the taverns, the Great Hall, where to find a doctor, and even the library where the island’s children conducted their lessons. It was all quite impressive for a pirate stronghold, though James’ enjoyment was slightly dampered by the expectation of running into Jack Sparrow around every corner.

However, the Captain of the _Black Pearl_ did not show.

Finally they retired to her own rooms situated in the great cabin of a galleon perched high above the sprawling city. “You can stay here tonight,” she said as they climbed the seemingly endless corridor up and up. “We’ll find you lodgings tomorrow. Or would you prefer to stay on the ship? It’s up to you, really, whatever you prefer, though I assume a man might like to have a place of his own when ashore.”

James immediately buried the disappointment he felt that he would not be staying with her while on land—he could not claim _surprise,_ of course. She was fiercely independent, and just because they were lovers did not mean she would allow encroachment on her own space…a daunting thought struck him then. How long _could_ this go on? Especially with Jack Sparrow in port, perhaps she would be all too happy to release him into the wild that was Shipwreck Cove.

She had already showered him with generosity as it was. She owed him _nothing._

Luckily her back was turned to him as he entertained these thoughts; otherwise she undoubtedly would have read it _all_ upon his face. She had a knack for that. However, his low mood could not hold for long after she unlocked her door and presented her quarters, the large bay of windows flooding the room with light and looking out on the city and the glittering sea below. Also, almost immediately after closing the door the Pirate King pounced upon him, which had a way of lifting his spirits no matter the direction of his mental ambulations.

Her sweet kisses curled his toes, and she took his hand to lead him to the room she used as her boudoir. They made love on her large carved wooden bed, the feather mattress soft as a cloud below them. After being crammed in her berth for weeks on end it was an immense luxury to spread out, particularly for James, who was quite used to his ankles banging the footboard of any bed not made with his dimensions in mind when he slept, much less the more vigorous activities best done on a soft horizontal surface.

As the sun set, gilding the room with rich pinks and golds, James held Elizabeth close, and with a nigh unbearable ache in his heart he wondered if this would be the last time.

 

**XXX**

 

Wrapped up in a yellow silk dress of the Chinese fashion that Elizabeth used as a dressing gown, the Pirate King sat upon the bench beneath the gallery windows of her rooms, overlooking the winking lights of her city at midnight. It had been a week since _Valkyrie_ anchored, and thus far her duties as Pirate King had entailed little more than the usual. Complaints, propositions, a small fire that was thankfully put out almost immediately.

She had found James Norrington a room with a view not terribly far from her own lodgings. It was simple, but clean enough, and he was welcome to furnish it as he liked. With his prize money from the merchant ship they took he had more than a little coin to burn.

Elizabeth had left him with the pointed invitation to not be a stranger, but so far he had yet to call. Undoubtedly all this was taking a fair bit of _adjustment—_ she prayed that did not include falling into a bottle again in the numerous taverns down by the quay, but he was a grown man and could entertain his vices as he liked in his free time.

She did not consider herself the maternal sort, but she felt the strangest urge to protect that man, after everything that had befallen him. She supposed it was part mothering, part guilt in the part she herself had played in his ruin, and part— _not love_. This she insisted to herself and quick about it too, though deep down she wasn’t sure it wasn’t a lie.

Fondness, then. That was a far safer word in her world. For James Norrington, she was _very_ fond.

The _Pearl_ still swayed at anchor in the Cove, lovely as every in her dark finery.

Jack too had yet to call upon her, and it hurt more than she should have let it. Seeing his ship but not her captain made her feel _restless,_ like a shark circling in the water at the scent of blood. Where had he _been_? What grand adventures had he partaken this go round?

But she refused to go skulking about the _Pearl_ like a cat in heat, yowling for an audience with her captain. She was a King, after all, and Jack Sparrow was not _half_ so handsome as he thought he was.

Well, maybe the last part wasn’t _exactly_ true.

As the clock poised to strike one there was a knock on the door. An _unseemly_ hour in the civilized world, but on this island business was conducted at all hours. That did not stop her from taking her pistol to the door, however, and when she opened the portal she found a familiar sight on the other side, his tricorn at a rakish angle shadowing his dark eyes.

“Hello, darlin’.”

A thrill she could not quell assailed her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

“Jack.”

“Did you miss me, love?”

“Maybe.”

The white and gold flash of his smile in the shadows quickened her heart. They stood there in the doorway regarding each other for what seemed like a long time, though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“If you’re lucky.”

She let him cool his heels for a few more long seconds, before finally standing aside, waving with the pistol in her hand for him to enter. The pirate sauntered past her, his boots clicking on the ancient decking of her floor. There really was no other word for the way he walked; he was like a cat, confident that the world was his oyster, no matter where he went.

“Would you like a drink?” asked Elizabeth, more because she herself suddenly felt parched than out of any proprietary manners.

“Most heartily love, thank you kindly.”

Jack collapsed down into the carved wooden chair at the head of her table, kicking his feet up on the corner immediately. It was _her_ chair, and he knew it, as the smirk upon his ridiculously fine lips indicated. As usual, she was torn between wanting to slap that infuriating mouth, or kiss it.

How was it possible to love a man _so_ much, and yet constantly be on the verge of murder in his company?

Elizabeth fetched a pair of silver goblets from the sideboard, and her nicest bottle of rum.

For _her,_ she told herself, and _not_ because she wanted to treat Jack.

“So how was your journey?” she asked, pouring them both a measure. “Did you find the Fountain?” She handed Jack his goblet, which he took with a nod of thanks, the trinkets in his hair clinking as he moved his head. Before she could remove herself Jack caught her hand in his, tugging gently.

“Come sit with ol’ Jack, and I’ll tell you _all_ about it.”

Elizabeth raised one dark brow. “I was about to,” she deadpanned, casting eyes to the chair to his right.

Jack extended that plump lower lip in a pout, a ploy that should have been _ridiculous_ on a pirate, but somehow thawed her heart. “Pretty _please_? I missed you, love.” Perhaps she was a fool, but she found that she believed him. Thus in the end she relented, settling upon his lap. With a grunt he shifted one of his effects on his belt, and then it made a perfectly comfortable a seat. Too comfortable. Inside, she sighed, though she would never dare do it before him.

She simply could not _help herself_ with this man.

With an arm about her willowy waist Jack made good on his promise, regaling her with a wild tale that included a search for the fountain, a side trip to break Gibbs out of Newgate, and an unexpected encounter with Blackbeard that somehow led him back to the fountain’s trail. The name of a certain Anjelica Teach kept popping up, and by the pointedly neutral way Jack spoke it Elizabeth knew it was a less than innocent acquaintance. A black jealousy she really had no right to roiled in the pit of her belly. Jack had managed to escape Blackbeard’s lot by the skin of his teeth, but the Fountain still remained unfound.

“Better luck next time,” she said cheekily, chucking him playfully under the chin. She frowned as she noticed that ever-present sore upon his jaw _still_ had not healed.

“And what of _your_ adventures, love?” asked Jack, his clever fingers tracing the outline of a pink cherry blossom upon the silk that covered her thigh. She could not disguise the shudder than ran through her at his touch, her eyes slipping closed momentarily. “I hear you acquired a most _unlikely_ foundling your last visit to Tortuga.”

Her eyes flew back open at the casual mention.

Jack knew all about it, truth be told. His excitement upon viewing the _Valkyrie_ entering the harbor had been slightly dampened when through his glass he recognized no other but bloody _James Norrington_ standing beside her. Her hand had been placed on his arm in a _most_ familiar way.

Jack could not _shake_ that man, it seemed, and what the _hell_ was the former Commodore doing with _his_ Lizzy? Had one public jilting not been enough of a hint? Jack had trawled the taverns that night, plying various members of the _Valkyrie’s_ crew with ale and questions of their latest cruise, particularly the circumstances of the King’s new companion. He’d not liked what he heard, _not one bit._

Elizabeth’s expression remained as tellingly neutral speaking of James, as Jack’s had when mentioning Anjelica. “Indeed. I found our friend James Norrington drowning his sorrows in a mud puddle on Tortuga. Needless to say, I have better uses for him, so I brought him home.”

Jack narrowed his kohl-lined eyes, and Elizabeth _tried_ not to enjoy making him squirm. It was childish, she knew, but it felt _so good_ after enduring tales of this Anjelica _._ “Such as?” questioned the pirate captain.

“He’s a bit shy of storms at the moment,” said Elizabeth with a pointed look at Jack, to which he affected his most innocent expression. “But someday soon I have no doubt he will feel fit to lead again. It is… _who he is_. With the French, the Spanish, and the English so hungry to see us fall, we can use all the fighting captains we can get.”

Jack scoffed, winning a glare from the Pirate King in his lap. “You really think ol’ stick-up-his-arse Norrington could fire on an _English_ ship? Not even for you, love, and on that I would wager me last doubloon. Not to _mention_ finding pirates who would follow his command?”

Elizabeth bore all this with a small smile, certain that time would prove Jack wrong. “Well, for the moment he is under _my_ command, and while he finds his feet again I would appreciate it if you would not harangue him.”

 _At your peril_ went unspoken in the air between them, which Jack did not like _one_ bit.

“Scuse me, darlin’, but I seem to recall _he_ was the one so determined to outfit _me_ with a hemp necklace. Don’t think it needs mentioning it ain’t my style _or_ my color.”

“That’s done now, Jack.”

“ _Hmmm_.” Jack was not so convinced. Though her orders went a long way, there was only so much even a King could do to mend such old wounds in the hearts of men. He couldn’t have elected a more adept King, and yet sometimes he forgot how very _young_ she still was. Maybe Jack didn’t know how, or when, but he knew this would mean trouble at a later date. Usually Elizabeth was uncannily adept at foreseeing such problems, and he wondered what in particular about this instance made her willfully blind?

Surely after _rejecting_ James Norrington, she did not fancy him _now?_

It left a nasty taste in his mouth, and Jack childishly stuck out his tongue with a sound of _blech._ It was clear by the sparkle in her dark eyes that Elizabeth was holding back laughter, and Jack sighed, pulling her a little closer on his lap. The rum was good, and a beautiful woman was in his arms— _the_ beautiful woman, though not even under thumbscrews would he bring himself to admit it, knowing all too well how _smug_ she would be—there were other things he wanted to do with this night, besides discuss the annoying and untimely resurfacing of former Commodore James Norrington.

When he drew her into a kiss with a be-ringed finger curled beneath her chin, Elizabeth did not fight him. In fact she purred like a kitten, and doubly so when he caressed her from her shoulder to her shapely calves, which boded _extremely_ well for the evening ahead. When his lips found the enticingly long line of her neck, and his clever fingers the knot of the sash of her dress, Elizabeth let free a long sigh of surrender. It had been too long, and something howled inside her that felt like the demon child of love and need, scratching and twisting in its desire to have his rough hands upon her. She would let Jack Sparrow raise his flag upon her this night, and plunder her hold to his black little heart’s delight.

She could always rise to fight again tomorrow.

 

**XXX**

 

Nearly a week went by absent of Elizabeth’s company, and James found himself feeling extremely restless because of it. And yet he knew better than to constantly press himself upon her, and so he gave her space, and stewed in the meantime.

There were a few things to occupy himself with. Furnishing his new quarters, though aside from a bed, a dresser, and a chair, he did not go too overboard. He acquainted himself with the Cove more, and either through the cutlass and pistol at his side or the King’s protection, he went unmolested in his wanderings.

He stared at the sea quite a bit throughout the week.

_Don’t be a stranger._

She had said those words; it had not been a figment of his hopeful imagination. He tossed and turned in his bed, until finally he could stand it no longer. James dressed and traversed the short walk from his tower of discarded ships to hers, climbing the long stairway with a hopeful eagerness in his heart.

Poised to knock upon her door, a sudden burst of laughter from the other side stayed his hand. He recognized her voice, filled with joy. And there was a second voice, of a decidedly lower register that he also knew _all_ too well.

Jack Sparrow had beaten him to the punch, it seemed.

James stood frozen upon her stoop, his hand in the air, unable to quit, unable to stop listening like some lurker under a young lady’s window. But not even shame could convince his legs to work, and he stood there like a man made of marble, taking the flogging of hearing Elizabeth laughing so gaily with another man. Though they were just chatting—seemingly—there was a decided _warmth_ to their tones that James recognized as less than strictly platonic conversation.

His heart fell further and further with every word.

When a sound that was not exactly a _word_ drifted through the door, James found his legs again and _fled_ down the stairs, taking two and even three at a time. He could not get away from _that sound_ fast enough. He did not stop until safely in his room once again, gasping for breath and leaning against the door as though he’d been pursued by a pack of wild dogs.

 _She owes you nothing,_ he fought to remind himself. She had made him no promises, and certainly not one of _fidelity_.

Still, his heart seemingly lodged in his throat, a familiar feeling akin to the wretchedness that overcame him the day she chose Will Turner as her beloved in front of all of Port Royal. He’d lost her again, it seemed, and for all that it was a wonder that he could even claim surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and your comments! They do make my day!


	7. VII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes Lizzy an offer.

# VII.

 

Elizabeth woke to rustling in the dark. By the quality of the blue twilight in her bedchamber she could tell it was the earliest hours of the morning, the sun not yet breached upon the horizon.

The bed beside her was empty.

“Don’t go yet,” she said in a voice husky with sleep. “Stay a while, Jack. We’ll have breakfast.”

The hunched over shadow that was Jack Sparrow straightened, having pulled on his boot. “Sorry, love. But Time, Tide, and Immortality wait for no man.”

This news caused Elizabeth to bolt up in bed. “You are _sailing? Today?_ ”

“Aye.”

“But you’ve only just _got_ here.”

“ _You’ve_ only just got here,” he reminded her. “ _Pearl’s_ been anchored for a good three weeks, Lizzy. “

Elizabeth was surprised—and annoyed—to feel a stinging wetness filling her eyes. “And you waited this long to call on me?” she demanded, thinking of the week she’d sat and stewed, wondering after him.

“You were as capable of coming down to the _Pearl_ as I am traipsing up here,” he pointed out, replacing some of his numerous effects on his belt. _More so,_ he might have pointed out, if it did not sting to admit that his increasing years pained him in his joints at times, a thing of which her never-fucking-ending stairway to bloody heaven liked to remind him.

Elizabeth had no good answer to that, and crossed her arms in response. He could not see her mutinous expression, but he knew it was there all the same.

The fact of the matter was that Jack very much would have liked to curl back up in bed with Lizzy, all day maybe. Or a week. Or a _month_. Like an old codger content to find a warm place ashore… If he did not watch himself he knew that he could lose himself in the gravity of this woman, and thus had felt the most _urgent_ need to flee before she woke.

That plan went well.

“Love, don’t be cross with ol’ Jack,” he sighed, walking to the edge of the bed once more, the soft clinking of his accoutrements marking his progress in the dark. He reached out to her shadowed silhouette to touch her cheek, and was alarmed to find a wetness there. “And don’t bloody _cry_ , either. It won’t work, you know.”

Elizabeth stiffened for his scolding, swatting away his hand. “I am _not_ crying,” she insisted vehemently, and Jack felt some relief that she would rather pretend than use it as a weapon against him.

Jack sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He could have said something like _I’ll be back as soon as I can_ but it would have been a lie. And not that Jack had any qualms with lies—they just didn’t work so well with Lizzy. Somehow, she always knew what he was about.

Adventure called. The sea— _The Fountain._ He feared Blackbeard and that sly if not comely snake Miss Teach would find it before him, and the thought made his insides writhe like a ball of snakes. He wouldn’t have even stayed in port for this long, had the Pearl not needed so many repairs, the men _badly_ needed shore leave, and…Her. _Her,_ damn her. He’d hoped the _Valkyrie_ would appear on the horizon, and so she had, and now after seeing Lizzy he felt rested enough in his soul to set out again.

He took her hand, and she thankfully did not try to hit him as he raised it to his lips. An idea occurred to him. A tingling little thought that dangled before him with the teasing hope that she just _might_ say yes. “You could come with me, love.”

Jack allowed his hopes to rise as she seemed tempted by the idea, some of the tension leaking from her body.

She had sailed with him once, when her reign was just in its infancy. They had gone off on some wild goose chase into the Panamanian jungle in search for a golden altar lost to history when it was hidden by the Spanish from the raiders led by Henry Morgan. Elizabeth had quickly found sailing under Jack Sparrow to be a mixed bag of heaven and hell. Perhaps she was a king, but on his ship he was king _and_ God—and she was not good at receiving direction as to his seemingly hair-brained schemes without question. Joshamee Gibbs she was not, though bless that man for watching over Jack with all the patience of a saint.

After a month of traipsing through the ninth circle that was Panama’s primal jungle, mosquitoes and other biting insects, fer-de-lance under every bush and jaguars in every tree, impassable cliffs and raging rivers and downpours that went on for days and days—Shipwreck Cove had _never_ seemed so welcoming.

Finally she answered, “You know I can’t.”

In the shadows, she made out the shapes of Jack’s fallen expression. “You _won’t_ , you mean.”

“I have responsibilities, Jack. I am needed here. Not to mention I have my own ship and my own crew to look after.”

Blackly, Jack couldn’t help but think there was one _particular_ member of her crew Elizabeth desired to keep a close eye upon.

“Sublet the command of the _Valkyrie_ to Billy,” Jack offered up. “The men get some prize money, you’ll get your share as King, _and_ you’ll be free to come with me.”

The thought of another man commanding _her_ ship, even Billy Bones, who she trusted implicitly, grated on Elizabeth to no end. Not to mention…she didn’t want to _follow._ Not even Jack. She wanted to _lead._

“No, Jack.”

He sulked. “Are ye sure you haven’t let this _King_ business go to your head, Lizzy?”

Anger began to boil in the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach, which was a hell of a lot more welcome than the sorrow that had been eating at her since Jack said he was leaving. “ _You_ made me King!”

“That may be so, but being King of a band of brigands and misfits never meant so much until _you_ got a hold of it.” The way he said it didn’t _exactly_ sound like a compliment, and the smoldering coals of her temper flared.

“I am sorry you think so little of what I am working to accomplish here.”

Jack clenched his jaw, feeling a row on the horizon like a growing storm. This wasn’t how he wanted to leave things. This was why he’d tried to slip out the door with nary a word.

“I didn’t say that.”

It was true that the Cove felt a little more _civilized_ every time Jack set foot upon her shore, and perhaps that _did_ rankle him a little—however, he knew that kicking the old order in the teeth by making a place of true freedom and equality was her real aim. But every responsibility she assumed seemed to take her farther and farther away from him—and he resented that too.

A lump formed in Elizabeth’s throat, composed of ire, frustration, and something else she could not _quite_ name. It was early, she was still half asleep, and truth be told she didn’t _really_ want to fight with Jack at the moment. She responded sharply, clasping her fist in the linen of the front of his shirt. “Will you shut up already and kiss me goodbye?” she sighed, pulling him towards her before he had the chance to agree or deny her.

He would not have refused her, however, and grateful for this out, his fingers slid into her hair at the base of her skull as he kissed her deeply. Elizabeth did not seem completely satisfied with just a kiss, however, and she began tugging at his sash as their mouths warred. “Lizzy…” he scolded, though there wasn’t much heart in it, and she knew it. He felt her smiling against his mouth, and she placed his other hand upon her bare breast beneath the warmth of the sheet.

Jack was lost to her, again.

“Tricky wench,” he grumbled, and it was rather impressive how quickly he could divest himself of his costume of belts and effect and fabrics, shirt, boots and breeches. The bandana stayed. There were precisely two occasions in which Elizabeth had seen him without it; both involved the improbable and infrequent act of bathing, at her behest.

“Bloody pirate,” she countered, the venom of the accusation tempered by a sigh as his hands travelled the curve of her waist, the swell of her buttocks, and lower, finding her already slick with wanting. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was not his kisses but their _arguing_ that made her wet.

Either way, he fully intended to reap the reward.

With ringed fingers he stroked her until she melted in his arms, rendered deliciously pliant to his will. When she hovered on the brink of release he pulled back, and she growled in protest, suddenly not so docile. “ _Don’t you dare_ ,” she hissed, hauling him against her, hips moving in line with his. Gold flashed in his smile, though it was hidden in the bend of her neck as he guided her upon him.

A sigh of relief escaped her as he sheathed himself inside her, filling her completely. He knew this was her favorite—surprising as it was—the Pirate King liked to be engulfed in his embrace in plain old vanilla missionary. Perhaps it was not their most _adventurous_ way of making love, but it was the sweetest. It was easy to be sweet in the dark like this, when he couldn’t _quite_ make out the look in her eyes, could only hear her breathy panting in the curve of his neck. His name whispered like a prayer, _Jack,_ and her hands lovingly exploring every inch of him.

He let her set the pace with hands on his hips and a heel pressing into his backside. Long legged and limber as the day was long, was his Lizzy. This went on until she begged with a small cry, _“More. I need…”_

He knew what she needed, and he proved he wasn’t _quite_ an old man yet, lifting her with an arm about her waist up against the headboard. Jack hooked her leg over his shoulder, and her face was illuminated in the growing dawn light creeping through the window. By the expression of abandon upon her so fine features, he knew this would do nicely. He rode her to the finish, her throaty cries bringing forth a surge of utmost _triumph_.

_His._

She was his and there was no one on this planet who did for her what _he_ could, Jack reckoned.

Otherwise, she surely would have killed him—again—long ago.

All hopes of making this last any longer went flying out the window. It was all too much, _too good,_ and he followed in his pleasure not far behind her, the headboard creaking under his grip as he came.

The early dawn hours slipped away to a blissful doze, tangled in each other’s arms and legs. It was solid morning by the time Jack quit her rooms, sent off with a heartfelt kiss and a decree that he come back to her in one piece. The pirate intended to do her one better; with any luck, by the time he next saw Elizabeth Swann he hoped to be the _immortal_ Captain Jack Sparrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your comments! It's always so interesting and a treat to hear your thoughts on the material!


	8. VIII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the Pirate King surprises James.

# VIII.

 

James hardly slept.

When he did sleep, he was treated to ghastly dreams of sinking ships and ghost pirates—both of which left him waking horrified, drenched in a cold sweat. On Tortuga he had numbed himself to these hissing demons with drink. On the _Valkyrie,_ Elizabeth’s embrace proved to be a powerful medicine for his weary soul. Now that he did not have the latter, a lesser man may have fallen back into the former easy oblivion again. But despite his misfortunes, James Norrington was made of tougher stuff.

So far.

A week after he had fled Elizabeth’s door like a cat with its tail on fire, James heard a knock. He had not yet received any callers at his new room, and he wondered if perhaps it was someone from the _Valkyrie_ announcing it was time to make ready to sail again. He had almost fully convinced himself to expect Billy’s scowling form on the other side of the door, or perhaps more likely one of the ship’s boys. What he found when he opened it left him _quite_ dumbfounded.

There stood Elizabeth in full regalia, with pistol, cutlass, and… _picnic basket_?

Though she greeted him with a smile, it slowly died as she took in the state of him: shirtless, disheveled hair and dark circles under his eyes. Immediately her eyes swept the room behind him, he knew searching for empty bottles scattering the floor.

“Darling, you look wretched,” she said honestly, which wasn’t exactly the way she’d planned to greet him after the unexpectedly long hiatus from his company.

“How kind of you to say,” he deadpanned, astounded that he managed to find his own voice at all.

What was she doing _here_?

A long silence ensued, in which Elizabeth waited to be invited in, or perhaps sent away, if that was really what James Norrington wanted. But the former Commodore simply stood there, looking rather flummoxed, an almost wild look in his green eyes.

“Have I…come at a bad time?” she asked, craning to meet James’ eyes once more.

He simply shook his head, as though finally remembering some semblance of etiquette. With a wave he stood aside, signaling that the Pirate King could enter if she wished. She did so slowly, taking in the room as she passed.

It was _immaculate_ , perhaps the cleanest room on the entire island, truth be told. James had not gone wild with furnishing his new quarters, but the bare essentials had been purchased. If he had taken to drink again, there was certainly no evidence of it here. She could have taken the chair, but Elizabeth decided to perch upon the corner of the bed, the tick mattress rather flat in comparison to her own feather confection.

There was something _different_ about her. After a few moments of study James realized she was not wearing her kohl. She was still lovely as ever, but less…intimidating, perhaps. She looked _fresh,_ and guiltily James thought he might prefer this less adorned look for her.

“You could use a little color in here,” she teased lightly. “Maybe some lace curtains.”

James did not respond, an unexpected pang hitting him like a punch to the gut that he had trouble putting his finger on. Perhaps because _had_ they married, it would have absolutely been her domain to decorate his living spaces. Left to his own devices…well, he was a practical man.

“Have you been ill?” she asked, suddenly worried that he had been abed with some ague all this time and that was why he had not come to her.

James sighed, shaking his head more. “No, nothing like that,” he assured her, his eyes drifting to the basket at her feet. “What is that?”

“Lunch,” she said. “I thought maybe you would like to see First Blood Beach with me, if your wanderings have not yet taken you there. It is a bit of a walk, but worth the effort.”

The long silence she received was not _quite_ the response she’d expected to such an invitation.

James could hardly wrap his head around this. Knowing he sounded particularly obtuse, he said, “You want to _picnic_?”

“Are Pirate Kings not allowed to picnic?” she teased with a half-smile that veritably tugged at his heartstrings.

He could have waxed indignant. He could have said something snide. _The Pearl must have sailed, then?_

He could have told her to go to Hell, and that she had broken his heart for the last time, though he already knew _that_ would have been a lie.

But such a thing would have put quite a damper on what looked like, through the window at least, quite a lovely day. A lovely day that Elizabeth seemed to want to spend with _him_.

He wanted to go.

Of _course_ he wanted to go, to be with her, no matter where she proposed their destination. First Blood Beach, as ominous as that sounded, or the mouth of Hell itself. What he could not fathom was what _she wanted_ from _him_. James scrubbed his face with his hands, attempting to clear the fog of lack of sleep from his mind.

“I…”

Elizabeth was not sure she had ever seen James Norrington so indecisive in his life.

He did not realize he had closed his eyes, until he felt her hand on his cheek, and then his forehead, checking for a fever. He reckoned she was smelling his breath as well, searching for the cause of his malady. He had an ailment all right, an incurable sickness, and its name was _Elizabeth Swann._

Why did she have to touch him like this? So sweetly, with such _concern,_ as though she _cared_.

“James—”

Before she could say anything more he wrapped his arms about her waist, drawing her into a kiss that lifted her feet off the floor in its fervor. She responded with a throaty moan, her hands locking at the back of his neck, holding him to her. They did not separate for some time, and when James finally pulled back it was only to draw a shaky breath.

Nothing had changed in the way she kissed him—in the way she _looked_ at him, in that moment, those large dark eyes shining up at him. Either he was the world’s biggest flat, or Elizabeth did _really_ care for him. She cared for him, and she cared for Jack, and if he put his foot down now somehow James knew he would lose her for good.

Seeing as she was the only thing he had _left_ to lose, he could not bring himself to do it. His courage and his sanity failed him _completely._

“A picnic,” he said, his voice sounding _almost_ steady. “How lovely. Allow me to dress.”

Elizabeth bit her lip with a mischievous look in her eye, running one finger over the flat of his pectoral. “That would almost seem a shame,” she said, warmth quite apparent in her words to which James’ insides instantly responded. Her touch strayed to the scar on his side, freshly healed, where he’d taken a knife for her. That had not hurt _half_ as badly as hearing her with Sparrow through the door. “Perhaps I can convince you to join me for a swim later?”

James raised his brows at the thought of Elizabeth’s lithe form slick with water, the turquoise sea glittering all around… Suddenly his throat felt rather _dry_. “You might, if there was acceptable privacy to be had,” he answered, not relishing sharing the sight with anyone else. Maybe he had to share her with Jack Sparrow, but he would be _damned_ if anyone else would lay so much as a glance upon her.

“It’s called First Blood Beach because it’s an out of the way place people favor here to duel when they don’t fancy an audience,” she said. “Dawn and dusk are the peak hours; we should have the place all to ourselves,” she assured him with a sly grin.

James felt his heart quicken in his chest. This woman… _this woman._ One minute she made him feel the lowest of the low, and the next he could not comprehend how so much joy could be contained in the vessel of his mere mortal’s body.

 

**XXX**

 

They made their way out of the town, and climbed a precariously steep goat path over a ridge that had them both panting a little at the top. But the view below was utterly breathtaking; a glittering azure cove lined by a stretch of white sand, palm trees swaying in a strip of green at the base of a sheer mountain side.

“Worth the trek?” asked Elizabeth with a small smile, noticing James’ expression of wonder. Despite his fatigue, he agreed, nodding slightly. He followed her down the other side, picnic basket in tow.

They set their things in a sandy patch of shade beneath a leaning palm tree with a sigh. “Shall we work up our appetites with a swim?” she asked, immediately reaching for the lapels of his coat. James thought that they had already done that sufficiently well with their walk, but he could not resist her hands upon him, or the thought of having a naked Elizabeth to himself in that clear blue sea. “I find a cool dip in the waves always helps me when I’m feeling the ill effects of a night out,” she ventured, pushing the coat from his shoulders.

Before she could reach for his shirt James caught her hands in his. “I am _not_ hungover,” he insisted, and though the look Elizabeth paid him wasn’t _exactly_ judgement, it did communicate that she didn’t really believe him. He’d hoped to avoid this, but with a sigh he found himself explaining, “I just haven’t slept well, is all.”

Sympathy overtook her expressive features, which perhaps felt worse. “Oh darling. Your nightmares? I thought you were doing better?”

“I was…” he answered, though the last thing he wanted was to make her feel he was a needy child who needed to be rocked to sleep at night. Understanding dawned anyway, however, and Elizabeth bit her lip with what looked surprisingly close to _guilt._ She looked away, her eyes drawn to the waves steadily crashing against the white sands.

“You deserve a better woman than me, James,” she finally said, her full mouth pulled in a somber line. “When you find her, you should grab her up with both hands.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that. A woman who did not have such a weakness for Jack Sparrow, or a woman who could fill a more traditional role in his life as a wife, mother, keeper of household? A woman who was not a pirate, as though he had a stone left in his pocket to throw? The very former may have been a very welcome detail, but the rest—he found he did not _care_ about the rest anymore. Did not _want_ it, if she did not. Whatever future was available to them, it certainly was not a conventional one.

Taking her advice to heart, James clasped her upper arms in his large hands, pulling her to him. “This _better woman_ you speak of does not exist,” he simply informed her, and Elizabeth closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She might have said something more, had James not lowered his mouth to hers, and she met him gladly, standing on tiptoe to better reach him. Her lips and the teasing tip of her tongue against his made James feel veritably weak in the knees, and he held her closer still, feeling for the umpteenth time in the course of their affair that he never wanted to let her go.

The Pirate King further surprised him when she retreated from their kiss to rest her head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath her ear. He held her there silently for a few long moments, before she broke away again. “Come on, the water is calling our names.” She divested herself of her accoutrements with impressive alacrity, leaving James to stare after her as she made for the water in nothing but the comely skin in which she was born.

Needless to say, he followed as _quickly_ as he could.


	9. IX.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Elizabeth have a swim, some French sundries, and a discussion of sedition.

# IX.

 

“Sometimes there’s a current out here,” she warned him as he waded out to her, up to his chest in seawater where she swam like a fish with sure strokes. “But I think it’s minimal at the moment.”

“Good to know I will not be pulled to my death on such a fine day,” he teased with a half-smile, his eyes never leaving her. She swam in circles around him, svelte and quick as a mermaid, clearly extremely content.

Siren.

It was a fitting analogy, thought James. It seemed he would be lured to crash upon her rocks again and again. If insanity was doing the same thing repetitively and expecting different results…he supposed he’d lost his mind long ago.

Despite these thoughts, Elizabeth was right about the restorative properties of the cool waves, the swaying motion soothing in its sweeping repetition. The swells were large today, but not violent unless one caught you breaking at the shore.

“You _do_ swim, don’t you?” she asked, noticing he did not take to the waves but seemed content just to stand with his feet planted on the sandy bottom. It was common enough for sailors not to know how to swim, a thing that boggled Elizabeth to no end. It spoke of the fatalistic nature of that lot, bless their salty hearts, but she thought there was much to be said for giving yourself at least a _chance_ to fight the sea before she consumed you.

“I do.”

She arched one eyebrow, as though to say _well?_ When that wasn’t enough she splashed him, taunting him into pursuit. It worked, and spitting seawater, James made after the Pirate King. She was a strong swimmer, but she squealed and laughed as she fled, and received her own dose of briny drink as her reward. His long arms also gave him something of an advantage, and he grabbed her up, kissing her triumphantly in between her coughing. The fact that she could not stop giggling did not help her regain her breath, and it was a rare and beautiful sound that made the former Commodore’s heart swell with joy. Finally he relented, patting her back like a baby in his arms until she could finally breathe again, her slender body trembling with mirth as he did so.

Recovered, she squirmed free and disappeared beneath a swell, and a moment later James felt a pinch on his bottom. He jumped, even if he knew it was no sea creature but a mischievous pirate monarch winding him up. She did not immediately surface, however, and James began to worry. It was some time before she surfaced, holding a large conch shell triumphantly with a wide smile.

She looked years younger in that moment, guileless as a young girl. He realized it was a very rare thing indeed to see her like this, all her defenses down. It was a side of herself she certainly had to hide in most of her daily dealings as Pirate King, and he felt honored that she trusted him enough to share it with him.

“Now here’s a _real_ prize,” she crowed, swimming over to hand James the shell. “There are loads! The last storm must have stirred them up.”

Before he could answer she had disappeared below the surface again, and soon emerged with another treasure. And another, and another, and soon James’ hands were quite full of shells of every shape, size, and color.

“Now don’t drop those,” she teased, looping her arms around his neck. She kissed him, and it took _everything_ in his power not to toss the crustaceous booty and grab her up. She wrapped her long legs around his waist, and just as he thought he really _might_ lose his mind if he could not touch her, she smiled against his mouth. “Alright, never mind, you can drop them,” she told him.

The sigh she emitted as his hands slid down her back to her buttocks was extremely gratifying indeed. They kissed, and bobbed in the waves, and chatted about small things while holding each other. It was _sweet,_ and relaxing, and though James’ arousal was quite evident between them, they did not try it. Lovemaking in the water _sounded_ like more fun than it actually was. Elizabeth always found it had a tendency to chafe.

After a while they returned to their shaded spot on the beach and spread a blanket on the sand. The sun and breeze dried their skin quickly. Elizabeth pulled on only her shirt, leaving the delectable stretches of her shapely legs free for James’ interested perusal. He couldn’t help but approve—he thought of the lives they had once led in Port Royal, completely unable to enjoy the beaches and the water because propriety prohibited it.

Perhaps it really was good to be a pirate.

James followed suit with his own shirt, and Elizabeth seemed equally appreciative of the view.

Elizabeth’s basket seemingly produced an unending selection of wonders, as she pulled out fruit, a crusty loaf of bread, several small jars containing _foie gras_ and goose vittles preserved in its fat, and a bottle of red wine of a very fine vintage. She hesitated a moment over the wine, but then thought how much harm could they do with just one bottle? Knowing her thoughts, James extended a hand for the bottle to uncork it, as though intent to prove he could very well handle a glass of _wine_ without ill effect.

“I requisitioned this from Capitaine Jean-Luc Flaubert,” she said, “After he picked a fight he could not finish off Guadalupe.”

James knew of Captain Flaubert, and could not help but raise an eyebrow at the fact that Elizabeth had bested him in battle. It was one thing to pick off fat merchants who rarely had cause to fire their guns, but _quite_ another to engage with fighting ships like Flaubert’s and emerge the victor. “Well done, sweetheart,” he congratulated, wresting out the cork with a satisfying _pop_. “Did you take them prisoner?”

“Oh no. Too much trouble. We took their ship but left them in their cutter and jolly boats. They were close enough to make their way home.”

“Hmm.” James pulled a small smile at the thought of Flaubert’s expression upon being bested by a pirate, a _female_ pirate at that, then thought not threat enough to kill or important enough to merit taking hostage. Rumor had it he was a formidable adversary, also a proud man with an awful temper, something that perhaps hindered him as often as it served him in battle.

Elizabeth canted her head as James poured their glasses, and regarded him over the rim of hers after he handed it to her. “You believe I was remiss in letting them go?” she asked, very curious of James’ opinion. He’s never really offered his view on the way she ran things, one way or the other. Opening this door could go one of two ways, and it was true that perhaps she did not always take advice well.

James wondered if someday he would regret placing this bug in her ear. “Perhaps not _remiss._ In fact, I find your actions rather admirable, considering. It was a mercy I could not have even granted with command of a Navy ship. But…it is strange, really, the way Christian nations go about killing each other. What happens in battle happens in battle, but those who are lucky enough—or perhaps _unlucky_ enough—to survive are kept aside as bargaining chips for later. Someday it could be useful to have such hostages on hand, if your own people needed rescuing.”

Elizabeth sighed, and opened the jar of _foie gras_. “I cannot say the notion has not occurred to me,” she admitted, tearing off a piece of bread and spreading the delectable treat upon it with a silver knife. She offered it to James, and went about making one for herself. “But when my subjects are caught, they are simply hanged. Always. So I cannot say I fancy keeping a prison hulk full of men in reserve for an exchange that will never happen.”

James understood her view, and nodded thoughtfully. The prison hulks were awful as the slaver ships, people crammed in arsehole to elbow in the dark hold, in chains, sitting in their own filth and poisonous air without a fresh breeze to be had. It was not man’s finest invention.

Taking a bite of the _pan avec foie gras,_ an unexpected groan of delight escaped him as the rich flavors melted upon his tongue. Though the French had been a constant annoyance in all his long professional life in the Royal Navy, he could not help but think _God bless their culinary talent._

“At this moment the civilized world views your subjects as criminals in need of exterminating.” James knew all too well; he’d exterminated his share. “Every king of every nation not only believes himself ordained by God, but his subjects believe it too. That is the very base of his power, and whether it is true or a myth is neither here nor there, so long as the masses perpetuate the belief. This begs the question, how does a King like _you_ , brought to power not by God but a popular vote—even if a vote _of two_ …” The last was punctuated by a small smile. “Prove that she has every right to rule, and that her people deserve the same respect as those of other nations? It shall take endurance, a show of power, a change in the way the world thinks, _and_ I am afraid a great deal of _luck,_ my liege.”

Elizabeth gave a grim half-smile. “I met a God once. Well, a Goddess. I don’t think any of their lot give a fart in a windstorm for who rules who in our world.”

James laughed. “Be sure to tell King George that, should you ever get the chance.”

“I will, thank you,” she said with her usual insouciance, taking a sip of wine. Then her expression grew more serious again. “The great kingdoms of Europe—their _vanity_ is what makes them so terrible,” Elizabeth mused. “They were not ordained by _God,_ and neither are their nobility. It is a great lie that perpetuates the machine that feeds their greed. It mobilizes whole nations in the belief that they have every right to enslave the citizens of another, just because of the different color of their skin. And it empowers a whole class of people to look down their noses at the less fortunate of birth.

“You and I, James…we were born _well,_ to wealthy families. I never wanted for anything as a child. But I do not believe we were favored by divine intercession. I do not believe it was anything but _dumb luck_. The majority of the people are left behind to fight over the scraps, to scratch out a living where they can—Shipwreck is filled with those who were left behind completely, pushed out because society had no convenient place for them but a noose.”

James’ expression betrayed nothing. “And you feel you are duty bound to protect these lambs?” He thought of how incensed she had been, that first day in Tortuga, when he had implied a pirate could know nothing of _duty_ or _honor_.

Elizabeth detected a hint of skepticism in his tone. _Lambs_ , the citizens of Shipwreck were not. Though nor were they all hardened criminals by choice. Everyone had a story of woe, injustice, and bad luck that brought them here, and it bound them all together. James had one of his own, if he would recall. “You still think you’re better than them.” Though she did not want to fight on this beautiful day, she could not quite keep the thread of heat from her tone.

“I didn’t say that. I have no illusions that I am just as wretched as anyone here, and that I would still be sitting in that puddle if not for your mercy.”

Or, her trickery, if one were to really call a spade a spade.

“But there is a difference between you. Because you would have taken your wretchedness as your due punishment, rather than rail against the system that put you there.”

“It was not _the system_ that put me in my place, Elizabeth, but my own decisions.” He did not dare mention Jack Sparrow, knowing it would be like dropping a lantern in a powder magazine, though that man’s name still hung in the air between them.

Elizabeth, however, still could not help but see his fate as a result of the flaws of the larger order of the world. “My people here will always be my first priority. But if there was some way to enlighten the rest of the world— _to set them free_ —I would do it. If they would but unite against their oppressors there is not a King in all Europe who could stand against them. It could start right here in the Caribbean, and take the colonies by storm, and then Europe herself.”

James took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When finally he spoke his voice came as neutral as he could muster. “Your aspirations are admirable, Elizabeth. I know that you care for your people, deeply, and your sense of justice is extremely well developed. It always has been. But you speak as though you wish to set the whole world on _fire_ —that is what it would take to bring about the changes you desire. And those monarchs you hold in such contempt will send all their Navies to answer for them. You shall have George, Phillip, and Louis all pointing a canon at your door.”

“You think I am a fool. You think I am a silly little chit playing pirate who will be snuffed out like a candle at midnight.” Now she _certainly_ could not keep the heat from her tone.

She acted as though she meant to rise from the blanket, but James clasped her hand. “Do not put words in my mouth, Elizabeth. What I am saying is that they will _kill_ you, and that does _not_ sit well with me.”

He felt her arm trembling beneath his fingers, her passion was so great. “They _already_ want to kill me.”

“If the chance were to come up, perhaps, as one would swat at a fly. You are a nuisance now. But if you incite such widespread sedition, they will all forget their petty squabbles and combine their forces against you.”

“They’re welcome to try. A great force can’t get through the Devil’s Throat, we would pick them off one by one as they tried.” She looked at the sheer cliffs behind them. “And the other sides of the island are naturally fortified.”

“That would be well and good, so long as the powder holds.”

“We have _plenty_ , I assure you.”

James didn’t think enough powder and shot could fit on this _island_ to hold off those three powerful nations indefinitely, but perhaps that was an argument for another day.

Inexplicably, the tension seemed to suddenly leak from Elizabeth; he felt it under his hand. Next a slow smile spread upon her full lips, like the sun peaking from behind the storm clouds, and she could not have surprised him more had she slapped him. “You used to do this when I was a little girl too,” she recalled. “Play the devils’ advocate to my wild schemes.”

James sighed, relieved that the day did not seem to be completely spoiled for them. He remembered the extremely circuitous conversations they’d had on the crossing, when she had pestered the then Lieutenant Norrington with her questions and he’d known no other way to speak to her other than as an adult. Somehow, her precociousness had demanded it. “You were an extremely forward little girl.”

The following insouciance in her smile melted his heart into a puddle. “And what would you have said then, if I told you someday I would be a King of Pirates upon an island all our own?”

James raised an eyebrow at that, a strange mixture of pride and dread spreading through his system, and a chill running down his spine.

“I wouldn’t have given the notion the _least_ credit,” he admitted.

“Hmm.” Her point made, Elizabeth turned back to fruit she’d lain out on the blanket, picking up a mango the color of a sunset. James watched as she produced a knife and went about skinning it with ease, a feeling of foreboding taking root at the base of his spine. Somehow, he did not think he had discouraged her one jot.

They finished their meal, and wrapped up in the mellow glow of the wine as well as each other’s arms, they dozed a little on the blanket. The steady breeze and the crashing of the waves not far away was a fine thing indeed. It was not long, however, before James’ touch began to wander, tracing the long curve of her neck and the swell of her shoulder.

“And I thought you were _tired_ , James Norrington,” Elizabeth teased, shuddering with pleasure as he found a sensitive area just behind her ear.

“I _was_ ,” he admitted. “But now I find myself with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my arms. What is a man to do?”

“Mmm that _is_ a terrible dilemma,” she purred, her long legs tangling with his. “You spoil me with your compliments. But you are beautiful too, you know.”

“ _Me_?” he scoffed, running fingers through her salt-kinked hair. “Hardly.” He supposed he could see how she might find a man like Jack Sparrow beautiful, the bastard, but _he_ certainly did not possess such fey good looks.

“You _are,_ ” Elizabeth insisted, her hands roaming the length of his long torso, a warmth in her voice that was not there just a moment before. She reached up to trace the lines of his mouth, his chin, and his brow, causing James’ eyes to slide closed under her gentle touch. “And perhaps it makes me wicked, but I am so _glad_ you are here with me now.”

He couldn’t deny it. Despite every crooked line and questionable course that brought him to this moment here with her, so was he. Perhaps he would not have traded his men’s lives for it, but all the rest—if this was the only way to have arrived at her side, he would do it all over again. “As am I, Elizabeth,” he told her in between kisses upon her lips and the long line of her throat. “ _As am I._ ”

She sighed as he stroked the length of her thigh, then higher, her perfect bottom cupped in his hand. It did not take much at all to coax her body into arousal, and he groaned as she pulled him to her, _inside her,_ with her strong legs wrapped around his waist. James rode her to the rhythm of the crashing waves, the cry of their release lost on the wind. They fell into satisfied doze with the afternoon sun dipping low on the horizon, the breeze rustling the palm fronds overhead.

 

**XXX**

 

Darkness had fallen by the time the lovers made it back into Shipwreck City. Every night was like carnivale, it seemed, the taverns raucous with reveling pirates fresh from the sea, some of which spilled out onto the streets. The King and her companion sidestepped these obstacles with nary a raised eyebrow, they were so accustomed by now.

At the foot of the stairs that led to Elizabeth’s rookery of rooms James prepared to bid her goodnight, certain that she would want some time to herself now. Though he did not relish the thought of the lonely night ahead, he did not dare test his luck more. And so it was with great surprise that he received her invitation up the long flight of stairs, her fingers intertwining with his. “Would you like to come up?” she asked, tugging on his hand.

_Yes._

“I…wouldn’t want to impose,” he answered, though every fiber of his being wished to remain at her side.

“You’re not imposing,” she insisted. “I…would like it, if you stayed, tonight.”

True, she thought of his nightmares, but also…she was just not yet ready to let him go.

James needed no further convincing, and he nodded, happily following her up the stairway to her abode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your comments, they make my day!!


	10. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Elizabeth take two steps forward, and one step back.

# X.

 

James woke in the twilight of early dawn in Elizabeth’s soft bed, her body curled against his back, her arm around his waist. It was bewitchingly snug, and when he shifted slightly she tightened her hold, a sleepy whimper emitting from her throat. “ _Not yet_ ,” she whispered. “Don’t go yet.”

James froze, as he’d had no intention of vacating the bed. “I’ll stay as long as you like,” he assured her.

She seemed to wake fully then, sitting up a bit behind him. She laughed a little at herself and there was a vulnerability in her voice James _never_ beheld before. “I’m sorry. Here I am clinging to you like a limpet.” She began to pull away but James covered her hand with his own over his heart, certain she could feel the damning thunder of his pulse beneath her palm.

“Cling away, my lady. I cannot say I mind.” He looked back over his shoulder, offering a small smile that he hoped was assuring. It was, and Elizabeth laughed at herself, snuggling down again into the dip between his shoulder blades. She tangled her legs with his, stroking his feet with her toes.

“You are a luxury I am not sure I can afford, James Norrington,” she murmured, kissing his spine, sending a thrill right down to his toes. He wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that, but he chose to take it as good tidings before slipping back into the warm haze of sleep.

 

**XXX**

 

When next James woke the bright light of solid morning shone through the windows, and he was alone. Usually he was an early riser, but the sweetness of sharing a bed with Elizabeth without the constant clanging of bells every four hours had clearly lulled him. This saddened him a little, and with heavy limbs he slipped from the cuts and pulled on breeches and a shirt.

The sight in the next room, the day cabin as it were, took his breath away. Elizabeth stood at the gallery of windows looking out over her city, wrapped in the yellow Chinese robe she used as a dressing gown. She was talking to herself quietly, and intermittently between taking in the view she went to a writing desk to dip her quill and scrawl out a few lines. She seemed… _enthusiastic_ about whatever she was composing, a fire in her eyes, and ink stained the tips of her long fingers.

Finally she caught the sight of him in the doorway, and she quickly dusted the page she’d been working on and shut the leather-bound journal. “Good morning,” she sang out, crossing the planks on bare feet to greet him with a kiss that he gladly returned.

“Good morning,” he answered, lifting a hand to caress her cheek.

“Will you stay for breakfast?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

“If it would please you?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at this response, which caused him to add as he’d said the night previous, “I do not wish to impose. I know that you value…your _solitude._ ”

She pressed her full lips, knowing this was perfectly true. And yet…she _wanted_ him here, for now. There was a fine line somewhere here they had yet to discover. “Stay a little longer,” she entreated, though it sounded rather like a decree, with which James was all too happy to comply. She waved for him to take a seat at the table and rang for breakfast.

After breaking their fast James watched as Elizabeth drew down all manner of ingredients from a carved wood cabinet, what looked like a type of mushroom, fragrant leaves, and what suspiciously appeared to be _eye of newt,_ grinding them together with a mortar and pestle before adding it to a hot cup of tea.

“Is that your potion for… _hedging your bets_?” he asked, unable to stop himself from wincing as she took a sip of the thick brew.

“Yes.” She made a similar expression, but doggedly drank it down. Curiously James watched her, as though the concoction might cause a physical difference in her appearance. His attention seemed to annoy her. “Please don’t look at me like that. I _cannot_ have a child at this juncture of my life. I have important work to do, and child rearing is not on the list. If fatherhood is something you desire you’d best look elsewhere.”

James held up his hands as though in surrender. “It is completely your choice, Elizabeth. And I hope I have made clear that _you_ are the foci of my desires. But are you _certain_ that physic will not harm you?”

She laughed at that; Jack too regarded the ingredients dubiously, but it was a recipe used in the upscale bawdy houses of Singapore to no ill effect as far as Elizabeth knew. The only drawback was that the ingredients were expensive even in Singapore, and now Elizabeth imported them all the way from the other side of the globe. “I am confident, yes, thank you for your concern.”

James nearly added that if she were to ever change her mind about children, he would not be disappointed. But in the end he decided against voicing this sentiment aloud, and they spoke no more of it that morning.

 

**XXX**

 

 _A little longer_ quickly turned into a week on end, during which the lovers hardly left the Royal chambers, having food brought in between making love, dozing, and reading to each other curled up in the large soft bed. It was like a holiday, at the end of which Elizabeth expressed her desire to ready _the Valkyrie_ to put to sea again.

Over the next week she took on vittles and water, and James and Billy oversaw checking her cordage and sails were in good order. Young Thomas Crane watched everything the former Commodore did with a dogged devotion, fascinated and hungry to learn. One day Crane’s sister brought him lunch with two more smaller siblings in tow, as well as some other children who roamed the docks in a gang of loveable miscreants, and the deck soon resembled a playground more than a fighting machine preparing to set sail.

To James’ astonishment, Elizabeth took this in stride, marshalling the children with the promise of a story, sitting down on a barrel to engage her young audience with her tale. One of the little girls climbed into Elizabeth’s lap, and James thought for a woman who claimed no desire for children she was very good with them. A pang he could not quell assaulted his heart, and he had to busy himself with another task so as not to lose himself in memories of hopes that were dashed by fate _long_ ago.

He waited until the story had seemingly reached its conclusion before approaching, clearing his throat. “I beg your pardon for the intrusion, Your Highness, but the powder is due to arrive soon. Perhaps it would be best if our young guests repaired elsewhere?”

“Ah, of course. You heard the man, my darlings. Off with you now, go play on the beach.”

Taking on powder was a dangerous and nerve racking endeavor; one stray spark and the whole ship could be blown to Kingdom Come. The decks were being wetted down as they spoke, and all lights would be extinguished below.

The children quit the ship begrudgingly, reluctant to relinquish the playground that was the rigging and wide decks of the _Valkyrie_. The little girl still clung to Elizabeth, her head resting upon the King’s shoulder. “When can _I_ come to sea like Thomas?” she asked, winning a chuckle.

“When you’re older, love,” Elizabeth told her.

“That’s what you said last time when I was four. Now I’m _five_.”

There was more laughter, and Elizabeth approached James with the child in tow. “And how old were you when you first put to sea, James?”

“Twelve,” answered her sailing master, the sight of Elizabeth with this girl in arms doing inexplicable mischief to his insides.

“Well there you have it, dear. When you are twelve you may come to sea and we’ll make you the finest sailor this Cove has known.”

The little girl giggled with delight, and only then allowed the King to put her down so that she could join the mob now making their way to the beach.

"See, James? What need have I for my own children, when I have a whole Cove to raise?"

James sighed. "And you intend to take them all to sea at twelve, eh?"

"If they want to learn. You cannot argue it isn't the best way. Your own beloved Royal Navy will attest to that." James' lips pressed in a thin line. "You disapprove?"

"It's just...such a _hard_ life, for a little girl.

Elizabeth laughed, though James suspected it masked a thread of anger. "You think life on land is easy for girls? For women?"

"The hardships are of a _different_ nature. You cannot argue that."

Elizabeth didn't, though she made a face as she chewed his words. Finally she spoke again. "I have a theory, James. Girls that age are so fearless, so _bright_. But after being told again and again and again they cannot do a thing—at some point they start to believe it. It is not our sex that limits us, but society's notions. So I will take that girl to sea if she still wants it and anyone who sayeth nay be damned.”

She fixed him with a hard glare that left no question as to _who_ she was damning in that moment, but James stood fast, his expression betraying nothing. He couldn’t help but think it was a little unfair to blame _him_ for the oppression of women the world over. It was a complex issue, and not so black and white as he believed she would have it. “Are men such monsters, that we would spare the women we love from the harsh realities of a man’s world?” he asked quietly, sensing he invited a storm upon himself but unable to refrain.

Elizabeth raised her chin to that jutting angle that indicated she would stand fast no matter the odds or the argument. “That is just the problem, James. This world does not belong to _men_. It belongs to us _all.”_

That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant, but she stalked away on those long legs before the debate could continue further.

That evening he deemed it wise to return to his rooms, rather than hers.

The holiday was over, it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you kindly for reading and your comments, they always make my day!


	11. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Sparrow has a mishap, and Lizzy offers a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for the lovely princesspenelopenerfherder, who on top of being owed MASSIVE congratulations!!!! I also owe a LOOONG overdue prompt fic involving Sparrabeth, a thrown punch and some wall pinning ;) . :D Hope you enjoy, love! <3

# XI.

 

The _Valkyrie_ put to sea, and outside of what was strictly necessary communication with her sailing master, Elizabeth did not speak to James. She hardly looked at him either, and it hurt more than James knew he had a right to feel. The crew noticed this disparity between their King and her newest beau, and some seemed to relish that the Commodore turned pirate had been taken down a notch, as if James had ever been ungentlemanly enough to tout the exalted connection over them. Most, however, didn’t care one jot, and young Thomas Crane among them.

He sought James out during meal times, and they spoke of the day, where they were headed, and what they might find. Though he was but a lad Thomas was very mature, and James found it easy to speak to him as an adult. One evening, after mulling and mulling over the conversation with Elizabeth that had evidently sunk him, James asked the boy, “And what would you think of your sisters going to sea, Thomas?”

Thomas shrugged, breaking off a piece of hard tack. “I’ll worry ‘bout them, of course. No help for that. But the decision’s theirs, by my reckoning.” The usually reserved boy’s face split into a wide grin. “An’ Molly can trounce me with a waster any day of the week, I feel sorry for any man comes up against her in a boarding.”

“Molly is the eldest, I take it?”

“Nah, Willa’s the eldest, and she likes being at home an’ tendin’ the hearth. Molly’s in the middle. She’s only ten but by gaw she’s a devil! Meaner than I’ll _ever_ be!”

James found himself laughing along with Thomas at that. He felt he’d known a little girl made of very much the same stuff, once.

 

**XXX**

 

Later that night Elizabeth found James standing by the gunwale, looking out over the star-strewn sea. When he felt a presence he turned to find her standing with arms crossed, chin jutting in that particular way that drove him _mad._ “I’m sorry,” she said before he could speak. “I know…you didn’t mean to sound like such an ass.”

As apologies went, this was the strangest James had ever received. Despite this, a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you?”

Elizabeth averted her eyes to the deck, kicking at a knot in the decking with the toe of her boot. “You are a fine man, James Norrington. The world would be a much better place, were it populated with more men like you.”

Some muscle that had been clenched inside James all this time finally relaxed. “I did not mean to give offence.”

The furrow between her brows deepened again. “I know you meant well. And I agree that children need protecting, to a point. But boy or girl, there comes a time when one should be free to choose one’s own destiny, ashore or at sea.”

“Duly noted, Your Highness.” An almost shy smile pulled at the corners of Elizabeth’s full lips, and she looked up at James from beneath her lashes. Wordlessly she held out her hand, and when James took it she tugged him towards the companionway, presumably in the direction of her cabin.

It seemed he had been forgiven, for now.

 

**XXX**

 

The _Valkyrie_ had a highly profitable time at sea, taking two ships laden to the scuppers with sugar that would be fenced tax free to the colonies and in Europe. The Cove’s trade network spanned _oceans_. More than the profit, what seemed to please the Pirate King most was that her haranguing of the sugar trade would continue to drive insurance premiums sky high, and in her eyes, one step closer to breaking the vicious cycle of slavery that was fed by Europe’s sweet-tooth.

One day, while enjoying a moment of rest with a cup of tea looking out the window over the harbor, Elizabeth noted a ramshackle little cutter pull in to the dock. This was no oddity in itself, but the boat’s occupants looked and moved strikingly like Jack Sparrow and Joshamee Gibbs.

The Pearl was nowhere in sight.

Before she knew it she had leapt up from her seat and was running down the stairs of her tower. She did not stop running all across town, until she came to a screeching halt upon the busy docks, searching wildly. The crowd parted like water for her, until she found herself twenty paces from Jack Sparrow, who froze at the sight of the Pirate King windblown and gasping for breath after her sprint across the Cove.

He looked awful.

Elizabeth had not seen him so _haggard_ since they had snatched him from the Locker, what felt like a lifetime ago. The light gone from his usually burning black eyes, the swing in his usual swagger diminished to a plain walk that on anyone else would have been _normal._ He and Gibbs both looked hollow, and she wondered how long they had sailed in that little boat, perhaps without food or a proper store of water.

When his eyes met hers Elizabeth felt a bolt of dread jet down her spine. “Jack?”

He offered up a pale half smile that was nothing like his usual puckish leer. “‘Lo, Lizzy.”

Again, Elizabeth searched the vessels of the dock, hoping to see that dark ship among the jumble of rigging and spars.

Nothing.

“Where’s the Pearl?”

The trickster pirate just sighed, glancing off to the horizon, and his silence spoke volumes to one who knew him as well as Elizabeth did.

“Oh darling.” The endearment slipped out before she could stop herself, but it seemed to catch Jack’s attention once more, his gaze sharpening upon her. Usually he treated her sweeter moments with a casual disdain, like a tomcat receiving his due homage. But this day…perhaps he _needed_ it, and Elizabeth found herself reaching out to him. “It will be all right.”

For a moment Jack hesitated, seemingly _surprised_ by this greeting _,_ perhaps having expected ridicule or her usual fiery taunting.

_The Pearl._

Elizabeth’s heart clenched at the thought of her lost once more. Jack loved that ship more than… _anything_. More than rum. More than _her._

“Is she sunk?” asked the King in a whisper, afraid of the answer.

“Nay,” Jack answered in a matching tone. “Stolen.”

Elizabeth nodded, a fierce glint shining in her dark eyes. “Then we shall take her back.”

Jack’s brows shot sky high at this. “Shall we?”

That he was so surprised she would make such an offer hurt Elizabeth, more than she knew how to express, or even comprehend. But doggedly she pressed on. “Come up to the Tower, Jack. You can tell me all about it. We’ll make a plan.” She held out her hand again, suddenly _desperately_ wanting him to accept this gesture of her good will.

_Of her love._

Perhaps she could not tell him, but she could do this thing in its stead. Be his champion, when the world kicked him down.

The pirate sighed and did her one better, ignoring her hand and catching her up into a hard embrace instead, burying his face in her hair. It was Elizabeth’s turn for surprise, for despite their long association, Jack rarely showed her such affection in public these days. For a moment she froze, before melting against him, reminded of the early days when he would mischievously steal a snog on the deck of the Pearl for the whole crew to see.

But that was before.

Before she had killed him with a Kraken. Before she became a King of thieves. How _innocent_ they had been. Sometimes she thought she would give _anything_ to return to those halcyon days, when she was just a girl high on her first taste of freedom, and he was a legend in the flesh before her, real enough to grab for herself. But now she knew that nothing so _perfect_ could ever last forever.

 

**XXX**

 

At first Jack was cagey with the details of his bamboozling, but with a little rum and some decent food in his belly Jack warmed to his subject. He admitted that the infamous Anjelica Teach was behind all the trouble, and that after some feminine _persuasion_ Jack had the grace to avert his eyes while speaking of, the lady pirate had drugged him, Gibbs, and made off with the ship on Tortuga while most of the crew was on shore leave. The reason Jack gave was nothing more than _it’s the Pearl,_ the most covetable ship in the world in his eyes, but Elizabeth inferred that _revenge_ for some past slight factored in as well.

Actually had it been anyone but Jack and any ship but the Pearl, Elizabeth would have found it all quite amusing. In another reality, she and Anjelica might have been friends. But as things were…jealousy seethed in her belly, and the King rather wanted to make _señorita Teach_ walk the plank at sword point.

That Jack would dally with this treacherous Anjelica again and again, when he could have had…

She shook her head, trying to clear away the thought. It was a path that led to nowhere good.

“Do you still have your compass?” Elizabeth asked, pacing like a tiger in a cage as Jack lounged in _her chair_ at the head of the table, his feet propped up on the corner. For once, she didn’t mind.

“Aye.”

“Then it should be easy to find her, at least.”

Jack drummed his fingers on the clawed paw of the arm of the chair, clearly not so convinced. “Mayhap…though if you recall, my compass doesn’t work so well around you.” The last words were spoken so low Elizabeth nearly did not hear them, and even then she second guessed her interpretation.

“Surely if we’re out to find _the Pearl_ you will have no trouble.” She would not flatter herself to dare think he could ever want _her_ over that ship, his _truest_ love.

Jack grimaced and made a wishy-washy gesture with his hand, fingers wiggling in the air, his numerous rings and several teeth glinting in the sun. The truth was that more often than not his compass still went in circles, or pointed dead on back to Shipwreck Cove, when the King was in residence. He’d nearly thrown the damn thing into the sea more times than he could count, tired of the constant reminder. As if he did not already know? What the _compass_ didn’t know was that it was _bloody_ impossible, and he wished it would pick up on the thing a man desired _second_ most at the user’s behest.

Elizabeth froze in the track she was wearing in the Turkish rug, her lips parted in surprise as she turned to gaze upon him. Eyes narrowed, she demanded, “Since _when_?”

Since when had _she_ been the thing he wanted most? Elizabeth thought of the early days of their affair, how young and in love she had been. When it finally seemed he’d forgiven her for chaining him to the mast of the Pearl, _accepting that he’d bloody well asked for it_ , she’d thought that finally they would be happy together. She had wanted, perhaps naively, nothing more than to hand him her heart with two hands.

But something had broken between them that fateful day, and like a bone badly mended, it never _quite_ worked the same again. He broke her heart _countless_ times before she finally realized it, and the expedition to Panama had been the last straw. So she resigned herself to the truth: she could have Jack Sparrow sometimes, or she could have him not at all.

The latter was unthinkable, unbearable, _unendurable_ —and so the King who was known for never compromising settled for the piece of Jack she could have. She hardened her heart and cauterized her wounds, so that she would not bleed to _death_ for this man.

She came to accept the truth: holding on to Jack Sparrow was like grabbing air. The best one could do was close her eyes and enjoy it as it slipped past you; it was all a woman would ever have of him.

Jack frowned, looking down into his goblet filled with rum. “Since… _always_ , love. Is it really _that big_ of a surprise?” He sounded _offended,_ and in that moment Elizabeth could have throttled him.

She trembled, her fists clenched at her sides. Attempting to master herself, she closed her eyes, seeking to banish this demon back to its dungeon. _Years_ of heartbreak, of _longing_. Of settling now and again for a paltry night of pleasure when she _needed_ him by her side. He’d left her alone after flinging her into this world as King of the Brethren. _So_ alone, and it had been old Teague, bless his black heart, who showed her the ropes of ruling in the Cove, not Jack, as she’d hoped it would be.

When next his voice came he was closer. “Lizzy? Ye alright, love?”

That he would tell her this _now._

 _Now,_ that she had opened her heart to another man.

 _Now_ , that James Norrington was so much a part of her that she would sooner sever her right hand than lose him?

Elizabeth _snapped_ , and before she knew it her fist was flying through the air.

She missed, of course. She didn’t _really_ want to hit him, not _really—_ well, maybe he just moved out of the way. He was tricky like that. She didn’t really know what happened in the next few seconds. It passed like the fury of a hurricane, and at the end of it she found herself pinned against the wall with Jack holding her wrists above her head for good measure.

“ _Easy, love._ ”

She strained against him, but in a test of pure strength Jack’s whipcord sailor’s physique trumped her own svelte frame. The only things left to her that would see her freed would hurt Jack, badly, and so she quieted under his hands, her head rocking back against the bulkhead.

She cried. She could not stop it, and fat silent tears rolled down her cheeks. “Lizzy…” Jack scolded, though there was no fire in it. He dared release her hands, kissing the salty drops of water away from her cheeks, pulling her close with hands on her waist. Elizabeth found herself melting against him, her arms circling around his neck, inhaling desperately the salt sweat and sandalwood spiced scent of him.

Jack held her, and when at last the Pirate King found her voice again she said, “I will get you back your ship, Jack,” as if that was the only thing they had been discussing this whole time. “It will take a few days to vittle the _Valkyrie._ And on my ship _I_ am in command. Savvy?” It didn’t sound half as fierce as she meant it to, but she felt Jack nod where his cheek was pressed to the top of her head.

“Aye aye, Your Highness.”

She laughed a little at the absurdity of it all, and it came out like a sob. Jack’s hold on her tightened.

“Have I ever mentioned your timing is _abysmal_ , Jack Sparrow?”

He laughed, a broken little sound. “I know. And I know I don’t deserve you, Lizzy. _I know._ ”

Jack surprised her once more, sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her into the night cabin. He bore her down into the soft feather bed, and kissed her with a tenderness they had not shared in _years._

“ _My God_ ,” she sighed, tilting back her head in bliss as his lips found her neck, his clever fingers slowly pulling loose the knot of her sash. “You haven’t touched me like this since I was still a virgin, on the Pearl.” Despite her engagement, Jack had stolen her out from under the nose of Will Turner with all the sleight of hand of a seasoned cutpurse. Neither the boy nor Elizabeth ever saw it coming.

She felt him smile against her skin, nuzzling the neckline of her shirt off her shoulder. “A virgin _huntress_ , maybe,” he scoffed. “You were never exactly what I would call _innocent._ ”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile at that. “Peas in a pod,” she whispered, and he answered her with a gentle kiss, that soon grew into a sultry torrid thing of longing between them.

“But do you _remember_ that night?” she asked, watching as slowly he divested her of her clothing piece by piece, until she lay bare before him. And though it seemed his eyes might bore holes straight through her, she did not shy from his gaze. She never had.

“Like yesterday,” he answered truthfully. He’d only _pretended_ to be quite drunk, truth be told. They had been on their way to the Isle las Cruces to find the chest of Davy Jones. He had wined her and dined her, wooed her with every _iota_ of charm he possessed—he’d _never_ wanted a woman as much as he’d wanted Elizabeth Swann that night. His proposition of mar-i-age hadn’t really been a joke at all. How he’d _longed_ for her to see through his jester’s mask. _See me,_ his eyes had pleaded. _Know me. Find me worthy._

She’d gone to his bed, and the very next day, she’d fed him to a Kraken.

Well, he knew it was more complicated than that. His brain did, at least. His heart…was still trying to find its way, it seemed, after _all_ these years. It was true that she snatched him back from the mouth of hell again, and he knew that journey left its mark on her in ways did not want to think too hard on.

He did not want to think of the throats she’d slit in pursuit of him, or the body she’d given to Sao Feng in a clever ruse so that she could take that Pirate Lord’s Piece of Eight.

As finally she conquered the last piece of Jack’s clothing and pulled him down to her, his bare skin sliding against hers, Elizabeth sighed. He shifted so that he may touch her first, but she pulled him into position between her thighs, knowing she was _more_ than ready for him, wanting to be _close_ to him more than she wanted her own pleasure. Jack groaned as slowly she took him inside her, a heel on his buttock urging him on until he filled her body to the very hilt.

“ _Jack,”_ she sighed, and when she said his name like that it did inexplicable mischief to his insides. He kissed her, moving inside her body as slowly as he could bear, wanting this to last. It was true that it had been a long time, _too long,_ since they had made love like this. Since the Kraken their trysts always held such heat, a barely contained _rage,_ bubbling just below the surface on both their parts.

He wasn’t exactly sure what had changed between them now, but it was too sweet not to hold on to, to savor to the very last drop, the last kiss, the last sigh of that ultimate pleasure that arched their bodies and curled their toes, fingers and legs tangled in an inextricable lover’s web.

For now.

Just for now.

Because the last time he’d let his guard down this much for Elizabeth Swann, it had not gone well for him at all. So for now, he would hold her against his chest, like she was the most precious treasure he’d ever found. For now, he would kiss her hair, and pretend that he’d been brave enough to say it aloud.

_I love you._

It could be argued that Jack Sparrow made Elizabeth Swann everything that she was this day. Woman, pirate, and King. But _those_ three words…that was a power he still could not quite bear to hand her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your comments!! They make writing this so much fun! :D


	12. XII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King gathers her crew.

# XII.

 

A meeting was slated for the crew of the _Valkyrie_. If Elizabeth had learned anything in her tenure as a King of free men, there was nothing so detrimental to a voyage than forcing men to risk their lives on an errand they did not care for. Handpicked as they were, Elizabeth’s crew sailed with her because she brought them great riches along with their glory. Jack would have to make a case for the profitability of recovering the Pearl, but if anyone could weave a tale with a silver tongue it was Captain Sparrow.

That was not the aspect of this voyage that worried her.

Climbing the stairway that led to James Norrington’s modest rooms, Elizabeth knocked thrice upon his door. The former Commodore soon answered, dressed in shirtsleeves and breeches, the sight of which for a moment made Elizabeth forget she had come here for a purpose other than pouncing upon him.

James had heard that Sparrow had returned to the Cove, _sans Pearl_ , as it were. Though the thought of Jack losing his precious ship gave James no small amount of pleasure, he had elected to give Elizabeth’s rooms a wide berth so as not to inflict any more heartache upon himself than was strictly necessary. Therefore, the sight of her here rather surprised him.

“Your Highness?”

“Good day, James. May I come in?”

With a sweeping motion of his arm he indicated that she was more than welcome to do so. After she passed he shut the door quietly behind her. She stood in the middle of his room, surveying the space with a hand casually resting on the pommel of her cutlass.

A small smile curled her shapely lips when she noticed that he had indeed acquired some curtains.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, trying and failing not to glance at the bed as he said it. As Elizabeth remained standing, so did James. Old habits died hard.

“I am mounting an expedition with _the Valkyrie_ ,” she declared, raising James’ eyebrows. They had only just returned, and she usually liked to give the men a bit more shore leave than this. Otherwise, they would get restless at sea.

“Indeed?”

She hesitated over her next words, pursing her lips. More quietly, she elaborated, “We are going after the _Pearl_ , if the men will have it.”

Something dark roiled in the depths of James’ heart at hearing this. Though, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Not really.

“I see.” His voice betrayed no emotion, which spoke novels in of itself to Elizabeth now.

“And I wanted to tell you that if you wish to sit this out ashore I would understand completely. I would not view it as a breach of loyalty.”

James’ heart fell at hearing this.

“You do not want me aboard.” It was not exactly a question, as he felt so certain in that moment it must be true. And why would she? With Jack all to herself on the _Valkyrie_ , what use would she have for his company?

And so at hearing her next words she could have pushed him over with a feather. “Not at all,” she answered. “You are a _most_ valued member of my crew, James. You have forgotten more about sailing than I will probably ever know, and I…” She hesitated over this final admission, but in the end she voiced, “I have come to depend on your counsel. If you decline to join us you will be missed, I assure you.”

If ever there was a nautical question Elizabeth did not know the answer, James was there with all his years of experience at her ear with a solution. Where others would have pounced on this as weakness in their King, her sailing master could be trusted to lend a hand without design or ego. Where once she had sailed with the fear that someday she would encounter a situation that tested the limit of her knowledge, she now terrorized the seas without concern.

James, however, did not realize she had come to value his contributions so very much. She always handled herself with a steadfast assurance, and she made good decisions as a captain of any service. He’d had academy trained lieutenants who were neither as intelligent nor as industrious as Elizabeth Swann.

Humbly James bowed his head in answer to this, averting his eyes in the hope she would not see his relief. “You are kind, my liege. So far I suppose I have managed not to sail you straight into a hurricane, at least,” he quipped with a palpable self-deprecation that squeezed Elizabeth’s heart. She winced at these words, frowning.

“That hardly counts, James.”

He, however, wasn’t sure what could count _more_ than the sinking of a first rate ship and the loss of 700 lives at sea. “Doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t, because we both know…you were not yourself. And that was my fault as much as yours.”

“I fear that is a stretch.” Suddenly the former Commodore wished to speak of _anything_ else but this subject, but Elizabeth crossed the room to him, standing toe to toe.

“Is it? Then I was not exceedingly cruel in rejecting you in front of the entire city of Port Royal, for a _blacksmith,_ after promising myself to you?” There was a sharp note in her words, something that sounded astoundingly like _regret._

Just when James thought that well behind them, a vicious pang assaulted his insides at the memory, and he could not look at her. “You were just a girl then,” he said softly, which he perhaps had been blind to at the time, but he saw all too clearly now. “And, you did not want me.” That part of the truth was what still hurt the most. Not her public rejection or her deception, which to be fair she had only committed to save her childhood friend’s life.

She reached up to cradle his face in her hands, drawing his gaze to hers. “My, how the tides have turned on that score,” she observed, and the heat in her eyes caused a ghost of a smile to return to his lips. When she stood on tiptoe for a kiss James gladly granted it, his hands sliding around her waist inside her coat, pulling her close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

Elizabeth could not have surprised him more had she pulled her pistol and shot him. She certainly had not expressed remorse for this before—he’d doubted she’d been sorry at all, really. Most men would have resented a woman for following her own heart so faithfully, but James couldn’t find it in himself to hold it against her. Had she married him out of obligation and been utterly miserable for it—that would have been a far greater disaster, in his mind.

He kissed her again, a slow and sweet lock of lips that somehow seemed to contain _all_ his love. “The past hardly matters now,” he assured her. “In this moment you bring me much joy.”

She caressed his cheek, looking deeply into those earnest emerald green eyes. He _meant_ that. Truly meant it, and she marveled that he did not seem to hold a grudge. She could not help but compare it to her relationship with Jack, and how neither of them seemed able to see past the wounds they had inflicted upon each other _years_ ago.

“How do you do it, James? How do you forgive and let go?”

James raised eyebrows at that. He was no saint, and there were _plenty_ of transgressions in his past for which he would still like to collect his pound of flesh. But in regards to Elizabeth…it was easier. Her feelings for him now certainly helped ease that pain, and…he _loved_ her. He loved her more than himself, more than his pride or ego or his former identity as a gentleman and an officer. However, he was not sure she would appreciate him laying this at her feet at this juncture. He settled for admitting, “Only for you, Elizabeth. _Only_ for you.”

The Pirate King embraced him tightly then, and somehow this was sweeter even than their sultry kisses.

“When do you sail?” he asked eventually, his nose buried in her hair.

“A few days, weather allowing. We are all meeting at dusk on the _Valkyrie_ to discuss this venture. Will you be there?”

“Yes. I will come.”

Elizabeth kissed him again in reward, a long and slow toe-curling affair that had him tangling his fingers in her hair, holding her to him. The distraction of this kiss almost wiped James’ mind completely, but still a thought drifted in, that he simply could not escape the task of chasing that goddamned pirate ship, the _Black Pearl_.

 

**XXX**

 

By the time James arrived most of the crew of the _Valkyrie_ had assembled, Jack and Elizabeth standing at the head of the rowdy bunch. He found a place beside Billy, leaning against a crate with arms crossed. Noticing his approach, Jack narrowed his eyes at Norrington, asking Elizabeth in a theatrical whisper loud enough for James to hear, “Oi, what’s _he_ doing here?”

“What is my _sailing master_ doing at a gathering of my crew? I’ll give you one guess, Jack,” she sniped. Despite Jack’s intense stare down at her, she jutted her chin defiantly, daring him to naysay her.

As Jack didn’t have much hope for recovering the _Pearl_ without Elizabeth’s _Valkyrie,_ in the end he relented with a grumble under his breath, shooting a sideways kohl-lined glare the former Commodore’s way. James hardly acknowledged it, looking coolly on with a single raised eyebrow.

For years James had chased this infuriating man with the desire to bring him to justice one way or the other. Now that Jack Sparrow was practically within reach, at least of a well-aimed pistol shot, James couldn’t touch him. The irony of it was almost comical.

Elizabeth introduced the proposed recovery of the _Pearl_ , accompanied by a rousing if not circular argument from Jack. Promises of future shares of riches earned with the _Pearl_ from here on out, etcetera etcetera, adventure, gold, and glory…the usual words to inspire a warm-blooded pirate’s passions. It didn’t take long at all to win the majority vote from Elizabeth’s crew, and all was settled. In three days _Valkyrie_ would sail in search of the ship with black sails.

Billy leaned over, grumbling low in a voice only for James’ ears, “How is it possible they believe a _word_ he says?”

A bitter half smile pulled at the corner of James’ mouth in answer. For once it seemed he and Billy Bones were in accordance. “With the promise of gold, and our own King’s endorsement—what could possibly go wrong?”

Billy shook his head slightly to himself. “Mark my words. Sparrow never brings her anything but the blackest trouble. I ought to pitch ‘im over the side at first chance.”

James’ smile involuntarily widened at that image. “Name the date and the hour and I would gladly second you.”

Billy drummed fingers on his bicep, shooting a forbidding stare in Sparrow’s direction. As though he could feel the heat of their stares, Sparrow chose that moment to look over at the two towering members of Elizabeth’s crew—did she only hire giants to sail with her? Black eyes locked with green, and though neither man betrayed the slightest emotion, a silent challenge was thrown down before them, a line drawn in the proverbial sand.

_May the best man win._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading and your comments! They never fail to make my day!


	13. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise, questions raise.

# XIII.

 

Once, James had thought Jack’s compass a pathetic contraption that did not point North. His assessment of the instrument did not change much on this voyage. For in the hands of Jack the needle spun like a dervish. Even Elizabeth’s touch caused it to swing back and forth wildly. In his own hands it only pointed doggedly at the King, no matter where she was aboard ship. In regards to making a heading in pursuit of the _Pearl_ , somehow only in _Gibbs’_ hands did the cursed thing work worth a damn.

They were headed North by Northwest, which made Jack grumble, hoping that Cuba was not their destination. Apparently Anjelica had friends there, in the smaller towns of the coast, and tangling with the formidable patrols of the Spanish Navy did not appeal to any of them.

A treasure galleon would have been _slightly_ more welcome, but the heavily armed escorts they traveled with made even that a practically impossible dream for the _Valkyrie_ sailing solo.

Elizabeth addressed the ticklish problem of sailing with both her lovers onboard the same ship by loving neither of them, in the physical sense at least. When on the first night of the voyage Jack tried to sweet talk his way into her cabin she shut the door in his face, winning a snort of laughter from a passing Norrington.

“Like you could do better,” Jack snarked at James’ back.

 “Despite how far I’ve fallen, I have yet to lower myself to forcing my way into a lady’s bedchamber,” James threw over his shoulder, knowing that if he turned to face Sparrow he would be sorely tempted to introduce his fist to all those pretty gold teeth.

Jack tilted his head pensively, beads clacking, a wolfish smile in place. “So the good Commodore was too much a gentleman to Romeo about the balcony of his beloved? No wonder you lost her to a _blacksmith_ , mate. If you haven’t noticed, that one,” he nodded towards Elizabeth’s cabin, “Loves herself a rogue.”

James frowned, pausing in his tracks. He should have kept walking. With every fibre of his being, he knew he shouldn’t let Jack goad him.

Slowly, he turned.

“A woman’s tastes can change, Sparrow.” He would not be so uncouth as to directly imply he knew intimately all about Elizabeth’s _tastes,_ but it was a _sore_ temptation to rub it in the pirate’s face.

Something sharp and hungry glittered in Jack’s midnight black eyes, and he adjusted tack slightly. “But that’s got to rub on ye _a little,_ ” the pirate went on. “To have had the world in the palm of your hand, your Admiral’s pennant just a promotion away… all snatched away by the fancy of a _girl_? And now here you are, a pirate _and_ sailing under her command…”

James took a single step forward, reaching up to grip a beam above his head, to keep himself from putting his hands around Jack’s _throat_. He might have brought up that he wasn’t the only one to have ever been taken in by Elizabeth Swann at some point in history. Jack’s consumption by Kraken at Elizabeth’s hand—and womanly wiles—was no secret. Indeed it was legend now at the Cove, a story pirates proudly told of their clever King and how she had saved the whole crew of the _Pearl_.  

“I can’t say I mind sailing _under_ her in the least, Sparrow. And in regards to all my misfortunes…well. I don’t blame her for the loss of my commission, my ship, or the lives of _seven hundred men_. I blame _you,_ and you’d best remember it when you’re considering closing your eyes to sleep.”

Jack’s face turned uncharacteristically solemn. “I am sorry about the loss of you men. A shame, that.” There was a long pause, during which James thought Jack might actually leave it on that note. But as the commodore turned sailing master turned away Jack added, “Maybe you shouldn’t have sailed them into that hurricane, eh?”

James saw _red,_ and before he knew it he closed the space between them. At that moment Elizabeth tore open her door, bellowing “JAMES!” Time seemed to freeze, James Norrington and Jack Sparrow standing nose to nose. The former commodore trembled with the desire to tear into the man before him, but with Elizabeth watching he _just_ managed to hold himself in check.

Jack did not bat an eyelash.

Elizabeth scrambled for some excuse to break them up. “Could you…this chart—in here, _now_ , if you please?”

All very thin, but if James Norrington was made for anything it was to obey an order. He very deliberately stepped around Jack, and slipped past Elizabeth in the doorway of the cabin, disappearing from view. The Pirate King remained in the doorway a few moments more, shooting a death glare Jack’s way. “ _Are you fucking daft?_ ” she hissed, earning a small shrug from Sparrow.

“Seemed like a valid question,” answered the pirate, winning another murderous look from Elizabeth. Her hands clenched by her sides, as though she herself wanted to throttle him.

“Mention it again and you may try to find the _Pearl_ from a rowboat. Is that understood?”

Finally, Jack seemed to deflate, if only minutely.

“As you wish, your nibs.” He doffed his hat, and before he could say more Elizabeth slammed the door again. She found James leaning over the chart spread out on the desk. However, she would have bet a king’s ransom he did not actually see it before him. She crossed the cabin and dared to place a hand between his shoulder blades, finding his body singing with tension.

“James…”

“Please don’t.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what she could have said anyway, so it didn’t matter. She settled for embracing him from behind, pressing her body the length of his. He held her hand over his heart, and only when its thundering gallop calmed to a normal tempo did she dare loosen her hold upon him. Without a further word James kissed her forehead, and quit the cabin.

 

**XXX**

 

At dawn one morning James came out on deck, and was immediately greeted by the sound of feminine laughter from above. At first he was puzzled, for all he could make out was two sets of _feet_ sticking up from the quarterdeck, both sun browned, though the larger pair was considerably grubbier than the other. One pair toppled over to more laughter, and Elizabeth’s voice carried clearly. “I win!”

A battle of headstands, apparently, made doubly difficult by the swaying of the ship.

There was playful grumbling that clearly belonged to Jack Sparrow, and James decided it would be best to go below again until the bell signaled his watch. Elizabeth had often invited him to join her for this morning stretching regimen she called _yoga,_ and now for the first time he regretted letting the opportunity pass him by, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. But then, who else would she have learned it from but Jack Sparrow, whose unruly appearance actually somewhat resembled the mad _sadhu_ holy men James remembered from his brief time stationed on the subcontinent.

Jack, however, would have laughed at the thought that he’d learned these basic _asana_ from a surly holy man of Shiva, who undoubtedly would have run him off had he even dared approach. There were many things he’d picked up in his time working for the Company and the lascar sailors who signed on to sail with them.

“And what is my prize, Captain Sparrow?” needled Elizabeth good naturedly, glad that the tension from earlier seemed to not have lingered in Jack. She’d been pleasantly surprised when he joined her on the quarterdeck that morning, and couldn’t exactly claim to mind the view when he stripped off his shirt, putting that wiry tattooed and sun-browned torso on display.

Jack’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “To be determined next time we’re alone, love.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes heavenward, but didn’t outright _oppose_ the idea, which Jack found somewhat promising. She had evaded his advances so far this voyage, which hurt far more than he ever should have let it.

Almost more than the loss of the _Pearl_ , Jack was _haunted_ by the day Elizabeth had vowed to help him get back his ship. The problem of the _Pearl_ was actively being handled—a solution was at hand, and with any luck her decks would be beneath his feet again within a fortnight. The problem of his relationship with Elizabeth, however, still left him bewildered with no solution in sight.

For the first time in ages they had shared intimacy that was not flavored by thinly disguised anger. Actual _lovemaking_ rather than a carnal expression of their _rage_. He wanted that again. _Craved_ it, more than any opiate he’d ever imbibed. He wanted that again, and he wanted it to _last,_ and for a man who by some was considered extremely clever, Jack simply couldn’t fathom _how._

Forgiveness?

He’d tried.

He _had_. He really had, and even come close to it a time or two. But just when he thought he conquered that black gnashing beast inside him, Elizabeth would open that sassy mouth and he would live it all over again. The disdain in her beautiful eyes, the click of the manacle around his wrist. Those bee-stung lips he’d so craved to kiss whispering in his mind _I’m not sorry—_ and he would believe her.

It got Jack to thinking of ways _around_ that. It made him think about _time,_ and the legends of those who once wielded control over it.

Thoughts of the Fountain were pushed to the back burner as he pondered this new question. Who needed eternal youth, if one could simply _go back_?

He’d been quiet in his lotus position for a very long time—an oddity for Jack, and by the way he bore a hole in the deck before him with his gaze Elizabeth could tell his mind was _far_ from empty. She canted her head, regarding him curiously. “Piece of eight for your thoughts?”

He offered her a smile that made her heart jump in her chest. For it was not bright or sharp, it was not sly or wicked—it was _sweet,_ or the closest it seemed Jack Sparrow could come to it. “Nothin’, love.” He pressed his hands together before him. “ _Namaste_.”

_I salute the divinity within you._

Returning the gesture, she said quietly, “ _Namaste,_ Jack.”

And as much as he infuriated her, she truly meant it. Not only because there truly seemed something of the _divine_ in Jack—his fey cleverness and manner so wonderfully strange that it sometimes seemed _otherworldly._ She had met a Goddess once, and she too had possessed that certain _je ne sais quoi_ that made one certain there was much more beneath the surface than what met the eye. Perhaps he was exasperating, but also he was the most _unique_ man she’d ever known.

Jack kissed her forehead before retrieving his shirt and retreating from the quarterdeck. Elizabeth stared after where he’d been for minutes after he’d gone, wondering what wily Jack was up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and your comments! They make my day!!!


End file.
